‘No!’ Melusine snapped as he tugged at the thing. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. They knew they were all Bogey in disguise. And Doctor Ralph stood by looking considerate. She had not made friends with any; so they still eyed her askance.
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