’ Abruptly, the niggling doubt that had been plaguing Lord Charvill came sweeping to the surface. If she kept on, would she make it out of the door? Then what? He could come after her before she could reach the secret passage. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. We stepped from the Embassy into the motor—and oh! I thought that he was dead. “We have a small studio,” she murmured, “in the Rue de St.
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