At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. “If I cut her neck, you’ll never get the stains out of your fancy car. I'll be outside the hotel at nine-thirty. As they approached London Bridge, the thief-taker whispered Van Galgebrok, who acted as steersman, to make for a particular arch—near the Surrey shore. “Is that you, Nigel?” she asked.
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