“He’s a good man, to be sure,” Maxwell prattled on, “but recently beset by troubles, and perhaps not possessed of the fortitude that might be wished in meeting them…”
While the guard’s attention was divided between the presumed parson and the man he sought to intercede for, Meg Drew’s clever fingers were filching keys and unlocking prison wagons and manacles. Maxwell could play out every move behind him as his voice went on rambling in the character of the old parson. Noting a charm on the guard’s watch chain that identified him as a member of a particularly intolerant temperance organization, he added a bit about the evils of liquor. One tailored one’s disguise to the needs of the moment and the weakness of the adversary.
Katarina had instructed her people well in the art of assuming pl
