“I mean this, Mrs. Rowton. I have discovered this: your husband, Adrian Rowton, is also known as Silver, the leader of the Silver Mob or School. This man, madam, is the one who murdered Anthony Follett many years ago!” [Illustration: “This man, Madam, is the one who murdered Anthony Follett many years ago!”—_Page 276._] There was a silence in the room which might almost be felt when Crossley ceased speaking. Nancy’s voice broke into it after a moment. She laughed—her laugh was wild and a little unsteady. “My husband!” she said. “How dare you say that to my face? Do you think for one moment I believe you?” “I knew it would be a blow to you, madam.” “It is no blow; you are absolutely mistaken. Anything else might have been a blow, but not that. My husband kill my young brother! My husband take a man’s life! Oh! come—this is too much.” “Satisfy yourself, then, Mrs. Rowton. Discover if his lip is smooth. Find out if he wears the mark.” “I will find out. I thank you. You thought to have terrified and crushed me, but you only excite my anger and my contempt. My husband! I myself rather than he.” She turned to the door as she spoke, opened it, and walked out with a steady step. Crossley followed her into the hall. It had never occurred to him that she would take his tidings with utter disbelief. “Lady Georgina,” said Nancy, opening the door of the little drawing-room, “my business with this gentleman is now concluded, and I am ready to go away.” Lady Georgina jumped up. She did not know Mrs. Rowton’s voice with the new quality in it. The ring of defiance, the vibration of strength and courage, were altogether a revelation to her. The carriage was waiting at the door. The ladies drove to the Universal Hotel. CHAPTER XXXIII. “IF NOT, LIE TO HIM.” When Long John arrived at the club in the street off the Chelsea Embankment he found several members of the School waiting to receive him. They were all assembled in a large room on the first floor of the house. As usual, they were smoking, and as the chief entered the dense smell of reeking tobacco filled the air. Scrivener was amongst the men present. He looked pale and excited. The other members of the School wore their habitual expressions, some of surly indifference, some of bravado, not a few of ill-concealed fear. For some reason there was a shadow in the air, and the men felt it without knowing that they did so. Scrivener was seated close to the fire smoking very strong tobacco when Long John appeared on the scene. “You have come; you are welcome,” said Scrivener, starting up and going a few steps forward to meet his chief. “Yes,” replied Long John in a voice of irritation, “of course I’ve come. There is not much time to lose,” he added; “the night is already late, and it does not do to arouse suspicion by keeping this sort of place open too long. Let us to business at once. You managed the kidnapping of the child very well, Scrivener.”