“Miss Lion, shall we?” came Hawkes’s voice. He put his hand in mine and pulled me away. I held the clapper of the bell with my fingers as we took half a dozen quick steps. And as if by magic, we were in shadow, standing quiet against the trunk of an oak tree while the two constables, puffing out their desperate breath, raced after the Reprobates, cursing all the while. Yet there were no Reprobates to be found. The constables disappeared into St. Crispian’s. “Hawkes?” But he was gone. I’d not even felt him release my fingers. Later, I found a peppermint in my coat pocket.
HIS HAND
