John, he was between me and the door. ‘You will arrest me? For—for—’ ‘Trespass, theft and spying,’ snapped Hilary. “But—your people!” she gasped. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. “John. Think! Had you not better hurry back before Sir John discovers? You are his wife right enough. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus.
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