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She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. She could not bear the shame of it. The detective rapidly sketched the appearance of the room in his notebook, and picked up the pistol from under the table. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. The Storm VII. ‘Because I’m a female,’ declared Lucilla unanswerably. He was manifestly exerting his mind for her, and she found herself fully disposed to justify his interest. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. He groaned, much to Melusine’s relief. It was convenient for Father Saint-Simon, who could enter this way and prepare in the little room before going up the narrow stair to the chapel above where the nuns waited. He did not spend more time with her. Covered with houses, from one end to the other, this reverend and picturesque structure presented the appearance of a street across the Thames. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. Then it dawned.
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