So often as she had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. The detective backed out slowly and closed the door without sound. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. With something near to horror they found themselves thus confronted. “How has the world taken it?” he asked. " "I'd never set eyes on you again. ’ ‘I fetched them with my clothes when the son of madame took me to see Marthe,’ Melusine admitted. How long do you think it will take him to put two and two together?’ ‘Eh bien, then if he will try to harm me, I will kill him. “You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces.
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