What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. ‘But you have told them that I have been disguised, no? That I have broken into Remenham House, and—’ ‘No, no, child, don’t be alarmed,’ said her great-aunt, her tone soothing. He was beginning to think about her inordinately. ‘Odds were against it. ‘Ah, yes,’ Gerald said, jumping down from the coach and waiting for the fellow to let down the steps for Melusine, ‘I had forgotten about you.
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