Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging. She had eaten little or no tea, and her mid-day meal had been worse than nothing. She leaned back in the corner of the cab with a little sigh of relief. Again having recourse to the centre-bit,—for Winifred's door was locked,—Jack had nearly cut out a panel, when a sudden outcry was raised in the carpenter's chamber. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. "Do nothing without consulting my father—your father, Thames," she implored.
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