“Do you happen to know whether she is supposed to be here?” “Very likely indeed,” Captain Fred Meddoes answered, lighting a cigarette. He resolved to judge for himself. She uncrossed her legs and lowered herself, carefully and slowly, until she lay supine. “You’re wanted for questioning, miss. Show him no quarter, Poll. ‘Don’t involve me in your lover’s tiff. “Shot through the lungs,” he remarked. What the devil is her name, now we know she isn’t you?’ ‘Yolande,’ supplied Melusine. CHAPTER XXXII. We know London, and you are a stranger here. Horrible details recurred to her.
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