On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Gosse sneered. And as he walked by her side they began a wrangle that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to banish a disagreeable preoccupation. She could not say who, not yet. "First take the child," cried Darrell, holding up the infant, and clinging to the oar with a dying effort. He had just arrived from Manchester, whence he had been summoned by that treacherous thief-taker. Then with an indescribable relief her feet were on the pavement, and she was being urged along by two policemen, who were gripping her wrists in an irresistible expert manner.
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