What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out. The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. "No," replied Hogarth, hastily effacing the sketch. "All right. On the way he confessed.
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