Read 65 A Heart Is Stolen for Free Online Page A

storms or tempests waiting for me.”
    “I have a feeling that might be a long time,” Anthony smiled, “and knowing how easily you become bored, Justin, I am feeling rather apprehensive in case the peace and quiet of the country, where nothing ever happens, palls too quickly.”
    “I will tell you if it does,” the Marquis said, “but I know one thing – we shall find this brandy a considerable solace.”
    Anthony sipped from the glass that the servant had just put beside him.
    “You are right,” he cried. “It is exceptional!”
    “It must have been in the cellar a long time or perhaps it crossed the Channel under the very nose of the coastguards.”
    “Smugglers!” Anthony exclaimed. “Well, if you get really bored here we might even join them.”
    “There is no point in smuggling now the war is over,” the Marquis said, “except to avoid paying the excise men.”
    “No, that is true,” Anthony agreed. “It seems to me the peace takes away quite a lot of the excitement in life except, of course, where women are concerned.”
    “There you are, back on the same subject!” the Marquis groaned. “I refuse even to think of the fair sex or the dangers of smuggling, but will concentrate on peace and contentment.”
    “I will drink to that, Justin. May your appreciation of such obvious virtues long continue!”
    “The trouble with you is that you are a cynic!” “That is the pot calling the kettle black!” Anthony exclaimed. “You have been one ever since I can remember. All I can say is if this mellow benign mood lasts I shall be extremely surprised.”
    The butler placed a decanter of port and one of brandy in front of the Marquis and he and the footmen withdrew from the dining room.
    There was the sound of a sudden crash outside, which made the Marquis frown.
    It had struck him over dinner that most of the waiting seemed to have been done by the butler, while the four footmen seemed clumsy and ill at ease.
    Their uniforms did not fit and, with his eye for detail and his desire for perfection, the Marquis decided that this was another issue he must discuss with Markham tomorrow.
    The sun was now only a golden glow on the horizon behind the trees, but they were still silhouetted against the changing sky.
    There was the caw of the rooks going to roost in one of the big elms and the Marquis thought that he heard the first high squeak of a bat.
    He leaned back in his chair and felt that he was, in fact, at peace with all the world.
    Then suddenly there was a footstep at the window and a deep voice rang out,
    “Don’t move, gentlemen, please.”
    The Marquis stared in sheer astonishment.
    Standing in the centre of the open window was a man with a pistol in each hand and he was wearing not a mask but a hood over his head, which gave him a very strange appearance.
    There were only slits for his eyes, his nose and his mouth, but beneath the hood he was conventionally dressed with a high intricately tied white cravat, cut-away coat which fitted him to perfection, buckskin breeches and highly polished boots.
    “What the devil – ?” the Marquis began and would have moved but the man said again,
    “Keep your place, my Lord, unless you wish to have a piece of lead blown through your shoulder.”
    The manner in which he spoke was quiet and slow, but there was also a note of determination that in its way was more menacing than if he had shouted.
    Looking at the newcomer with fascinated eyes, the Marquis was aware that the door into the corridor had opened and he turned his head to see another man, also hooded, come into the room.
    He held in his hand a black bag that appeared to be heavy and, as he walked towards the table, the Marquis was aware that his clothes were very different from those of the man in the window.
    They were the clothes of a servant and his coat was old-fashioned in shape and rather full.
    He seemed to know exactly what to do, for he stood by the Marquis’s side and the man in the window