‘Come on. “Eight, Cavendish Square. She told me the tale the other night, and I've only elaborated it. Kneebone, who had drained his glass to the restoration of the house of Stuart, and the downfall of the house of Hanover, more frequently than was consistent with prudence, consented; and the trio set out for Wych Street, where they arrived in the jolliest humour possible. ’ ‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Sindlesham loudly, casting an anxious glance upon Melusine. A handy knife, and a good tot of something sharp to clean out the wound. One of the coolies held the paper lantern. . The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls.
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