At Boulogne they took train to Basle; next morning they breakfasted together in the buffet of that station, and thence they caught the Interlaken express, and so went by way of Spies to Frutigen. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. Suddenly remembering Kimble, her heart thudded with excitement. She had not gone by the name Lucy during those years but instead had called herself “Mary Lucia Iovelli”. ‘For my part, I am in no hurry to end this exciting little adventure. Why did the beggar hang on down there, when he could have enjoyed all that civilization had to offer? Yes, he would be mighty glad to see McClintock; and the sooner he came the better. Look in the small hide-bound book that he keeps in his boot. .
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