Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. You can pull it over on everybody else, Lucy, but not on me. She caught her finger in the lock and had to ask him to help pry it out. How did you get into this house?’ He shrugged. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. “Exactly. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her.
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