’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. He had heard everything. The simile started a laugh in his throat. He winced from the wasp-like sting. “It is about your sister, Lady Ferringhall. Oh, what have you been about now?’ ‘There is no need to be concerned. ’ Melusine blinked at this competence. She had a vision of policemen, reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace. In this spy theory, however, he had no faith whatsoever. “I cannot reason with you,” he said at last wearily. E.
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