If he had imagined Melusine would be hampered by her petticoats, he was disappointed. She alone of them all knew that he was on the first leg of the terrible journey to the beach. ‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. She listened, her suspicions confirmed. But in a moment, it was tucked under his arm and, raising the pistol again, he gestured towards the door opposite the one where Melusine stood.
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