There was a discreet knocking at the door, and Ramage’s face changed. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. ” “It is an accident,” he answered. No Cantonese was in those days permitted to cross to the Sha-mien after sunset without a license. Why should God give particular attention to such a prayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trap somewhere. There was a certain air of forced fortuity in his manner. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean.
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