” “Do you?” “We were great friends at school. Melusine ran to catch at his arm. ” Her urge to drink deeply of his blood was growing insane, ignited by what he had already donated. A moment more and he would have been crushed beneath the ponderous board, when a slight but strong arm arrested its descent. “Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. It was painted in the early seventeenth century by a minor artist named DuPre. Anyhow, that is how things are. ’ ‘But me orders, sir? Are we to—’ ‘Gad, but that’s her,’ interrupted Roding suddenly.
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