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“Miss Ellicot!” Brendon echoed. “Yes, aren’t they?” said Ann Veronica, after a thoughtful pause. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. For if the likeness between the sisters was remarkable, the likeness between this girl and the poster which he had come from studying was more remarkable still. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. Get the men back to their posts.

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