About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive. Manned by a couple of watermen, who rowed with great swiftness, this wherry dashed through the current in the track of the fugitive, of whom it was evidently in pursuit, and upon whom it perceptibly gained. Everywhere else—the law, medicine, the Stock Exchange—prejudice bars us. Melusine choked on a laugh, and Gerald at once seized the initiative, speaking in a tone deliberately soothing. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. ’ Abruptly, the niggling doubt that had been plaguing Lord Charvill came sweeping to the surface. People running, screaming, hiding.
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