I knew where I would go next: Florence. “Dear old Daddy,” she said, “he’ll make a fearful fuss. Not a breath was drawn. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand. Picked up the photograph, looked at it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear as daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as the race itself. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. ‘Get the swords!’ ‘I’ll see to him. He awoke, strangely content. There was one letter.
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