They were on their way back home, or so she had thought. Without a word, without a sign, Enschede started toward the beach, where his proa waited. Flinging her back against it, she put her hands out, barring his way. By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto. When Jack came to speak of Jonathan Wild, his countenance fell. The expression was wholly different. “I don’t believe there is one. I saw her come out from the flat buildings two minutes before we entered it last night. ‘Jarvis Remenham was your mother’s father.
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