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It was Blueskin. ‘Um—begging your pardon, sir, but—um—what was you meaning to arrest the young lady for?’ ‘Trespassing, theft, and suspicion of spying,’ announced Roding fluently. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. She did not try to approach him. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. Understand once and for all that that answer is final. White, my landlady, believes his story.
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