He might solve the riddle. Her back arched and she felt herself instinctively sinking into him. He began a jerky, broken conversation that lasted until they reached the station, and left her puzzled at its drift and meaning. Courtlaw opened his lips, but remained silent in the face of her imperative gesture. She held up the lamp. My business is with Lady Trafford. ” So they went this time to the Rococo, in Germain Street, and up-stairs to a landing upon which stood a bald-headed waiter with whiskers like a French admiral and discretion beyond all limits in his manner.
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