Shoplatch. Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ enquired the captain at length, ‘that you have had the infernal audacity, the—the gall, the—the— Gad, it’s an outrage! You’ve stolen a horse from a priest?’ ‘I did not steal it,’ protested Melusine hotly. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. This is a plot entirely abominable, and I scorn to be part of it. The work of plunder over, that of destruction commenced. But indeed that is not at all a good description of her attitude. I want you to be clear what you’re really and truly up to, anyhow. .
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