‘Now what?’ The guard jerked his head up the corridor. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. “Your name and address were upon an envelope found in the pocket of an Englishman who was brought here late last night suffering from serious injuries,” he said in a dry official tone. Pah! Damned Frenchified—’ ‘If you say again,’ threatened Melusine, moving to meet him like a jungle cat poised for the kill, ‘this scorn of a thing French, monsieur le baron, I shall be compelled to give you this apoplexy of which she speaks, madame. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. Shoplatch.
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