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She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. She had always wondered when they would start being able to trace her kills, with their expanding systems of criminal databases and computers, and now it was starting to happen. Still, her face never betrayed this distraction. ‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer. All at once Melusine remembered Pottiswick, and the errand he had run. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. Sheppard, fervently.
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