Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. The rogue took everything we had. His noble Florentine roots went back a thousand years, to the days of grand Rome herself. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. Nor my grandfathers both. The child fell within a short distance of Darrell, who, hearing the splash, struck out in that direction, and caught it before it sank. “Maternity,” she said, “has been our undoing.
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