His voice now had lost its ironies. "Do you wish to earn a rich reward, my good friend?" said Thames to the watchman, as soon as they were left alone. They then took off their boots, and crept stealthily up stairs, treading upon the point of their toes so cautiously, that not a board creaked beneath their weight. ” For a moment or two he did not speak. I do not choose the vicomte, for that would be foolish. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. For a time Spurlock did not move.
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