From where had he come, and why? An author! To her he would be no less interesting because he was unsuccessful. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. Take care he don't see you,—and bring me word where he goes, and what he does. Instead her point disengaged, dropped, and then the sword came up again and banged, flatbladed, onto Gosse’s wrist with such force that his own blade dropped from his grasp. John’s demeanor shifted. The detective backed out slowly and closed the door without sound. ‘And she’s—’ She broke off, a sudden light in her eyes. He sounds to me like a soldier of fortune. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself.
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