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At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws. For Melusine was on him again, the point of her sword lunging so that he backed up onto the dais. ‘Now,’ she said, in an imperious manner that so much reminded him of Melusine that he was obliged to suppress a grin, ‘I can see you properly. While this was effected, intelligence was brought that a formidable mob was pouring down Field Lane, the end of which was barricaded. Go easy. He got up. A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila. He was fast rising to an eminence that no one of his nefarious profession ever reached before him, nor, it is to be hoped, will ever reach again. Only, he'll be an interesting specimen for me to observe. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. And the age gets higher. We were only—les autres. The theme was a masquerade.
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