He wore a French military undress of the period, with high jack-boots, and a laced hat; and, though his attire indicated no particular rank, he had completely the air of a person of distinction. I could see his little animal brain churning away, inventing plans for me, formulating his revenge. Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her face resumed its expression of stern preoccupation. On the other a wretched engraving of the Chevalier de Saint George, or, as he was styled in the label attached to the portrait, James the Third, raised a suspicion that the inmate of the house was not altogether free from some tincture of Jacobitism. Politely Ah Cum stooped and recovered the photograph. He made a note of the idea and stored it away. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. ‘You know about that?’ ‘It was the only possible deduction. A sob was strangled in her throat.
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