He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. Of late, he has become the instrument of Walpole, and does all the dirty work for the Secret Committee. ‘Moi, je vais vous tuer!’ ‘I don’t think so,’ Gerald said through his teeth. He threw the doctor out of the Palazzo on his rear, sending him to the insane plague-infested streets. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so.
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