She pointed hither and yon, smiled and shook her head. ‘It is that he needed me for his lie, no?’ Melusine said, striving to control the quiver in her voice. ‘You said—who?’ ‘Remenham. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. I have written, called—of what avail is anything—against that look. I change them in the morning at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down. I told her it was the end. But then you're an adopted son, and that makes all the difference. Do not oppose it, and I will serve you. He must win this man's confidence, even at the risk of being called mad.
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