"If things had gone smoothly," he thought, "I should have cursed the fellow's stupidity. "Take him to the bilbowes. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. She no more realizes what she has done than a child of eight. I must go perhaps in all the rooms. We went our ways. Battle, murder, and sudden death—and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in the midst of it. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her.
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