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’ ‘Certainly he is not a friend,’ Melusine agreed, ‘but he has gone, after all. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. Even then it sent Spurlock spinning backward, to crash against the wall. Spurlock had better stick to the bungalow. There was no mistaking his intentions this time. She pushed the former and it opened. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. ‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion.
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