‘You mean there isn’t any evidence of a break-in. On Monday Charvill had still not returned, and the major duly presented himself at Mrs Chalkney’s house in Grosvenor Square, thanking his stars that his friend Roding would not be there to spoil sport. “Either I want to shout,” said Mr. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. What was the name on those marriage lines you showed me?’ ‘M—Melusine,’ stammered the woman, her countenance yet registering shock. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. “I am staying at the Savoy.
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