‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. Why, is the question I would like answered. Gerald crossed back to the window. “Just like old times,” she thought sardonically. “I’m a vampire. It was easy to discern Gianfrancesco’s mood. Near the body, which, it will be surmised, was that of Abraham Mendez, two ruffianly personages were seated, quietly smoking, and bestowing no sort of attention upon the new-comers. “I do,” he answered. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. ‘Suzanne, if I may say, had also not the choice.
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