His face warm, Captain Roding glared them into silence, and firmly marched his captive off down Piccadilly, heading for Stratton Street where the town house of the Alderley family was situated. ‘Will you—what was it?—“blow off his head”?’ Melusine eyed her, a little uncertain. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. ‘Sir?’ enquired the lad. An Englishwoman. It wailed at Lucy, chubby arms reaching towards her, pleading. ‘Never trust a gun in female hands,’ grumbled Hilary, dropping the nun’s habit and backing to join his friend. I’m behaving shockingly, I know. Not the most stringent search, conducted all morning, turned up one solitary sheet.
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