“I—I shall be all right directly. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. I am your husband, though as yet your hand has scarcely lain in mine. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite. One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken. EPOCH THE FIRST, 1703.
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