She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood the game—both of us. He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out. “Dear husband,” she murmured. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. His smile faded.
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