You will be my witness, Madame Joan. Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual. “I’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. "I'll place it to your account, Sir Rowland," answered the thief-taker, smiling significantly. She went across to the little window again, her back to Melusine. .
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