"There's Sharples," cried Quilt. “What made you marry him? What made you leave Paris without a word to any one? What made you and your sister exchange identities?” “There is one answer to all those questions, Nigel,” she said, with a nervous little shudder. The man’s statement was explicit, and spoken with confidence. He was confined in the Middle Stone Ward, a spacious apartment, with good light and air, situated over the gateway on the western side, and allotted to him, not for his own convenience, but for that of the keepers, who, if he had been placed in a gloomier or more incommodious dungeon, would have necessarily had to share it with him. In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. The very sight of these impediments, would have appalled a less courageous spirit than Sheppard's—but nothing could daunt him. Gianfrancesco had been talked into the arrangement only because the drivers that had handled the job for generations were sick or dead.
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