Lord knew why he had any interest in an impertinent girl who would certainly have spit him with that dagger! He reached into his pocket and brought it out, examining it in the increasing light as he slowly made his way back up the terrace. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. Nothing, in short, portable or valuable was left. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. ’ Chapter Three Captain Hilary Roding listened with only half an ear to the long-winded report being given by Sergeant Trodger, his idle gaze wandering over the congested traffic of Piccadilly and the many pedestrians weaving a hazardous path through it. Wood, disdainfully. ‘What, is Nicholas dead?’ He saw the two of them exchange glances and an instinct of danger rose up. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered.
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