‘I have said it is not stolen,’ snapped Melusine indignantly. Melusine approached with caution and sat warily at one end, looking up at him expectantly. . He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. A robbery has been committed, and your master suspects this lad as an accessory to the offence. After all a thousand pounds is a trifle to rid you of an upstart, who may chance to deprive you of tens of thousands. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company.
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