‘Jacques?’ she called. ’ Her gaze followed the butler, who was moving towards the door. The subterranean level of the Diedermayer house was fully bedecked with every luxury known to mankind. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. "Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper.
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