There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. “You’ve interested me enormously. Come up stairs, and take a glass of brandy. CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. Parbleu, but she was a fool. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. She pulled her chair with a mild creak and marched towards the stair.
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