But the most damning evidence required no such speculation. As an
underling reluctantly turned the red-haired man onto his stomach, the
discrepancy was plain. The brand just below the left shoulder was not
a scar, but an unhealed burn, perhaps not even inscribed while the man
still lived.
Earl Arthur had the weapon he needed.
But there was more to come. Upon returning to his chambers to mull
over the discovery, and think how to use it to greatest advantage, he
had found an old woman still at work on the rooms. He started to leave
for the solitude of an adjacent library, when she accosted him with
her knowing voice.
"Begging your lordship's pardon," she said, eyeing him steadily. "If
you will forgive me, speaking so bold, I have words about my master
you may find worthy of your attention."
The Secretary did not think to remind her of her place, as he normally
would have done. This was the very type of disclosure he had sought,
and been unable to secure, from all the local persons his men had
questioned. Fear seemed to padlock their jaws, and even the promise of
reward (and protection from Lord Purceville's wrath) could not induce
them to speak.
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