To her satisfaction, the captain reddened a trifle. His hands were exploring her once again in the car. ‘Jacques?’ she called. “My dear Annabel,” she said, “this is delightful, but I thought that it was forbidden. ‘Still, the comtesse has them well in hand. ” John looked at her sympathetically. He was safe, out of the beaten track, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack. He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out.
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