Give him his medicine every half hour. He only stays here for you, hoping in vain. I warned her not to say a word, for it would mean the death of everyone in the Palazzo, including you. ’ It was thus in stony silence that the pair traversed the short distance to Stratton Street, where Roding knocked on the major’s door and entered a pleasant woodpanelled hall, with his prisoner firmly in tow. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his.
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