Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. Melusine was silent, revolving this outcome in her mind as she stared at Roding, who was frowning at her in a puzzled way. I have it about me. Killed is too kind a word. I bound him up good and tight, stuffed his mouth with a length of rope, taped it shut. After a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily forgotten. The minute he discovers Roding here, he’ll know something is up.
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