A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. The hotel on the Peak had the aspect of a fairy castle. "A bad business this, Van," observed Baptist, with a prolonged shake of the head. She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again. His legs were fine and strong, he told her that he had been a warrior in ancient times, to which she snorted in disgust. All sorts of battered tramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice. 62 <8> A FIRST DATE WITH JOHN DIEDERMAYER The weekend began for her with that luxury of all luxuries, sleep. The account of the discovery of Sir Rowland's murder filled Winifred with alarm; but when she learnt what had befallen Thames—how he had been stricken down by the thief-taker's bludgeon, and left for dead, she uttered a piercing scream, fainted, and would have fallen, if Jack had not caught her in his arms. "Where is he?" he cried. There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow. Now the sense of beauty was spreading to a multitude of hitherto unsuspected aspects of the world about her. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city.
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