’ He gave the gaping Pottiswick a shove, passing him on to his junior, who was waiting patiently by the kitchen door. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. Like a petulant child he snapped. “Here, dis is for you. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. .
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