" "Wretch!" cried Jack, raising his hand in a menacing manner, "your triumph will be short-lived. An ancient smile lay on his lips. Success to our enterprise!" "Success to our enterprise!" echoed the others, significantly. Cold drops stood upon Wood's brow, as he encountered this obstacle. Capes was rather a discovery. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. Cursed him for his devotion that had made him come back for her, only to get himself shot by the fiendish Gosse. She had found the location of his firm on the internet on a library computer, tracing him to this place in New York where he practiced criminal law.
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