His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. “Then assuredly!” said Manning. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. Melusine tilted her head to catch sight of her neck, and froze, staring at the image. Amid this tumult, several men armed with tremendous bludgeons, with their faces besmeared with grease and soot, and otherwise disguised, were observed to be urging the populace to attempt a rescue.
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