‘Jacques? You have done it? He is alive?’ ‘Oh, he’s alive, all right,’ confirmed the sergeant, putting the petrified Pottiswick—stockstill and staring in horror at the dagger—firmly out of his way and taking his place before Melusine. What would he come as? Presently she roused herself with a guilty start from the task of dressing and re-dressing Mr. Stanley as they drew alongside, to account for his own ruffled and heated expression. As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared.
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