He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ enquired the captain at length, ‘that you have had the infernal audacity, the—the gall, the—the— Gad, it’s an outrage! You’ve stolen a horse from a priest?’ ‘I did not steal it,’ protested Melusine hotly. O'Higgins was all that the doctor had imagined a detective to be: a bulky policeman in civilian clothes. And Leonardo told me never to trust any man. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica.
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