Melusine ran to catch at his arm. ’ ‘What is all this about your proof?’ demanded Roding, diverted. And then came the vile experience of being forced and borne along the street to the police-station. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. “I expected you this morning,” he said. To his great joy he found a small garret-door in the roof of the opposite house open. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it.
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