‘You the fellow Gerald spoke to?’ Kimble flushed beetroot, and Melusine had a flash of insight. She doubted if Manning would even listen to that. The woman shrugged her shoulders. The strong fingers of one hand secured both her wrists there, and Melusine found herself chest to chest with him as he threw off his hat, and began to pat at her petticoat, searching for tell-tale protrusions. There was barely room for one, let alone two, in the passage, and Melusine ended up backwards, supporting Jack as best she could as he stumbled along, grasping the rough walls on either side with both hands. She could hear the raucous laughter and bad music below. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell. If he stayed in the basement apartment as was his usual habit, she would have no problem. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. ‘So it is that you have made Jacques betray me.
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