She felt a semi-sharp object being gently impressed into her back. What was his transport on perceiving that a few yards above him a light was burning. Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. “You will be so good as to leave us your correct name and address, mademoiselle,” he said curtly. ‘In fact, I’ve never met anyone who goaded me to so much violence. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. .
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