“David Courtlaw!” she repeated. ‘Me, I am tout à fait stupide. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. I should have known at a glance if it was. So Monday, when I see one of the maids come out with a basket, for to go fetch summat for that other Frenchie—the female as I told you about, miss, as is forever coming and going with the nobs. ’ ‘Yes, that rather leapt to the eye,’ Gerald said, and the faint smile sent a lick of warmth down inside her.
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