CHAPTER XIV. ’ ‘Eh bien. His safety must be looked to. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. “‘Go it, missie,’ they said; “kick aht!’ “I swore at that policeman—and disgusted him. ‘Pig, miss?’ ‘The one who calls himself Valade, idiot,’ snapped Melusine impatiently. If so I shall have to leave. His face darkened.
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