Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. He spoke English with astonishing facility and with a purity which often embarrassed his tourists. The shock and distress were genuine. It may be useful to you. ‘Obstinate fool!’ She saw Gosse raise a hand, and dug into her nun’s habit for the knife she had not thought to need.
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