‘And now, monsieur le major—’ ‘I will see you to the door,’ Gerald said, looking with interest at the building that his observant groom had told him housed a small collection of nuns. Plus he’s a genius. In the genuinely dissipated face there was always a suggestion of slyness in ambush, peeping out of the wrinkles around the eyes and the lips. I’m not mad that he has eyes for you instead of me, not mad at all. It is only a matter of time before he presents himself to whoever has the deeds to Remenham House—a lawyer I presume—and claims that property for his wife’s. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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