She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. "I am very wicked," she said. ‘You’re not going to kill me this time. "I'm tired of the life I'm leading. ’ ‘But you are bleeding like a pig,’ came the frantic response. Think! Had you not better hurry back before Sir John discovers? You are his wife right enough. He's down in Patagonia somewhere. Around her neck was a little gold chain. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. Drummond was telling me about the way old Ferringhall rounded upon them all at the club. I must go perhaps in all the rooms.
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