‘I wonder why the females of my acquaintance have absolutely no respect whatsoever for male authority?’ ‘Ha!’ came from Hilary. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. The whole neighbourhood was disturbed. ’ Chapter Three Captain Hilary Roding listened with only half an ear to the long-winded report being given by Sergeant Trodger, his idle gaze wandering over the congested traffic of Piccadilly and the many pedestrians weaving a hazardous path through it. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him.
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