It was a clear, lovely, October morning. ‘Parbleu, the bullet is still inside you,’ Melusine guessed, remembering how the Mother Abbess had diagnosed Leonardo’s suffering when he had first come to the convent. Don’t take revenge on him because I’ve wronged you. You’re a lady. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. Sheppard, averting her face to hide her tears. And she—’ ‘She!’ interrupted the young lady crossly. The detective rapidly sketched the appearance of the room in his notebook, and picked up the pistol from under the table. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. Besides, she will do no such thing.
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