She had killed him. The strong fingers of one hand secured both her wrists there, and Melusine found herself chest to chest with him as he threw off his hat, and began to pat at her petticoat, searching for tell-tale protrusions. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. “By-the-bye, Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “do you know that I am a very great admirer of your sister’s? I wonder if she has ever spoken to you of me. The original passage, Martha had told her, had led only from an upstairs room to one downstairs. Take the one that struck him at this moment. Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. Langley, I appeal to you.
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