She traced him by his scent. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. But you had better know the truth to start with. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. ‘What do you do here?’ demanded the young lady, moving to meet him. Every gibbet at Tyburn and Hounslow appeared to have been plundered of its charnel spoil to enrich the adjoining cabinet, so well was it stored with skulls and bones, all purporting to be the relics of highwaymen famous in their day. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. "More than three hundred weight, Sir," replied the man.
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