With his arms bare, the neckband of his shirt tucked in, he laboured. “I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders. ’ ‘But what dispositions?’ ‘Posted the men I had brought back with me all about Golden Square to watch for Valade. ’ Melusine’s voice petered out. He disappeared into its thick doors like a magician’s rabbit. “Where am I?” he muttered. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before.
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