It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. Oh God! pardon me. ’ ‘It’s no use blaming me, Gerald,’ uttered Roding, shrugging helplessly as his senior turned questioning eyes on him. She turned them down and gently placed the violin back in its red fake fur lined chamber. ’ ‘But if she’s going to gaol—’ ‘Just keep watch, like you’ve been told,’ Roding said severely, turning to glare at his sergeant. Did he see him, this Monsieur Charvill?’ ‘I don’t rightly know, miss,’ confessed Kimble. “Of course I will,” he answered. She put a hand to the lad’s cold cheek and choked on a sob. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words.
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