“Now I suppose Brendon understands exactly what you mean,” he remarked. " "Not quite," rejoined the thief-taker, significantly. ” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. Then, mysteriously, he no longer smelled or tasted it. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered.
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