From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. The girl’s gaze met his in interested inquiry. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. “Not at all. She had found the location of his firm on the internet on a library computer, tracing him to this place in New York where he practiced criminal law. At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs. “Are you in the Service?” She asked him. You can’t! I tell you frankly you may break off your engagement to me—I shall hold myself still engaged to you, yours just the same. ’ Grasping the lantern, and heedless now of the discomforts of the passage, Melusine flew like the wind back towards the library, the vision of Jack Kimble’s white face driving her on.
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