"I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—No, not quite that," he added, a little confused. “But then they would find that check endorsed in his bureau. I wouldn't trust a Malay, not if he were reared in the Vatican. We tolerate you for your genius, that's a fact. Come with me to the Condemned Hold directly, and, if I find my fears confirmed, I'll—" He was here interrupted by the sudden entrance of the black, who rushed precipitately into the room, letting fall the heavy bunch of keys in his fright. ’ ‘Eh bien, you are not a saint,’ Melusine snapped. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica.
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