‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. “Then what did you do?” Lucy’s eyes leveled with her. She caught at the idea. I pity her from the bottom of my heart. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Ramage, regarding it and putting a well-booted foot up on the bottom rail.
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