“I shot him. But I was portentous, I can assure you. He talked about his driver's license, how he would soon inherit his older brother's BMW. He said nothing. ‘That piece of information seemed to interest him very much. It would seem, from the attention which he evidently bestowed upon the hidden and complex machinery of the grand system of villany at work around him, that his chief object in taking up his quarters in the Mint, must have been to obtain some private information respecting the habits and practices of its inhabitants, to be turned to account hereafter. . ’ ‘I would have done, only you threatened to blow off my head,’ Gerald reminded her, laughing. You say I know nothing. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth. James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica.
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