He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. And Ritter’s, too, was very amusing and foreign and discreet; a little rambling room with a number of small tables, with red electric light shades and flowers. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. “No, he wouldn’t come here of all places—just now. He was ready to seed his legacy, and you were a pawn to be moved out of the way.
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