” “Many other people,” she remarked, “have made the same mistake. And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it. She snapped out of her blissful state and looked at him squarely in the eyes. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. You’ll be telling me Gerald did not catch you snooping at the Bicknacres, I suppose. This is clear over my head. With an open hand, he slapped her face.
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