” Annabel looked intently into her glass. Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. The figure she had longed to see came into her line of vision, but at this crucial moment of hideous realisation, Melusine barely took it in, her eyes fixing blankly on the man behind. Stanley. ‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue. . He had been baptized there. . ’ Again, Melusine did not waste words. She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk.
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