’” “Yes?” “I think—yes, I went on in a pleasing blend of the casual and sotto voce, ‘The fact of it is, sir, I happen to be your son-in-law, Capes. Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth. What was the alternative to going home? No alternative appeared in that darkness. We were fellow passengers from Charing Cross, and we have been fellow lodgers in the Rue d’Entrepot. ’ ‘So I infer. ‘Eh bien, does that mean that you will do it again?’ ‘Not if I can help it,’ Gerald uttered, alarmed. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English.
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