She was shocked. White caught her eye, and smiled benignly down the table. Hill closed his eyes. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. ‘This is altogether insupportable!’ She dug a hand into the recesses of the petticoat of her riding habit and a moment later Gerald found himself once again confronting the barrel of her overlarge and tarnished pistol. Soot was everywhere, for the lamp would not stay trimmed in the gale. “Wise! Kind! What mockery words are! I came because I had to. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. Like most officers, he’d had it especially made, for a man who loved danger had need of a precision instrument of defence.
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