" "You have extradition papers?" "What sort of a detective do you think I am?" countered O'Higgins. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Then he opened the study door and called “Mollie!” and returned to assume an attitude of authority on the hearthrug, before the blue flames and orange glow of the gas fire. It fell with a clatter to the floor. I sha'n't cry any more. ’ ‘But it’s my affair, Melusine. Leonardo had not taught her to do so. You wanted to play a lone hand. The servants had left the room.
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