Manning,” she said, “I HAVE a confession to make. We had not then recovered from the shock. But it would serve. That knot also would be cut. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. There was scant social life on the Sha-mien aside from masculine foregatherings, little that interested him. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. Or was that perhaps because his business in Piccadilly the other day had gone awry? Perhaps Brewis Charvill had not welcomed him with open arms.
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