It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. Then Capes flittered to the hearthrug and poked the fire, stood up, and turned about. "Answer me one question first?" he said; "I half suspect you're Jack Sheppard. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes.
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