James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. She looked in the glass over and over as she checked for lint and makeup streaks. “The adventures I do not doubt, Annabel,” she said. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. But—it’s one of the things I’ve just been thinking over. ‘I can answer that. ” She turned abruptly at right angles to the path they followed.
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