207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. "We're all damaged—we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices. ” She shook her head gently. “He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. . He thought of his wealth for once from a different point of view.
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