“I will put the question,” Drummond said gravely. "Do you think I'm afeard of a beggarly thief-taker and his myrmidons? Not I. Wood, in equal trepidation. Smith, he'll swing after next Old Bailey sessions. ‘You mean that there is a rival Melusine to the one he has heard about? He does not. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. You're alone, too, child. But not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold. ‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours.
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