‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. But she disapproved more and more of her own mental austerity. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. ” The dinner came to an end at last, and the whiskered waiter presented his bill and evacuated the apartment and closed the door behind him with an almost ostentatious discretion. Her usual dignified reserve had availed her nothing. "Fear nothing, Sir," said the man, in a voice which Thames instantly recognised as that of Blueskin.
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