She heard them diving after her, and noted their starting eyes as they spied the opened panel. It was locked. Maggot was equipped in a light blue riding-habit, trimmed with silver, a hunting-cap and a flaxen peruke, and, instead of a whip, carried a stout cudgel. On the floor, underneath the sixth row desks, was an ashtray with a small black dot of blood on its blunt round corner. Happily they had no one else to wait for, and it heartened her mightily to think that she had ordered the promptest possible service of the dinner. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. ‘But the fact remains that you should not have enjoyed it, you were quite right to threaten to kill me, and I— God help me!—should not have kissed you at all.
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