’ ‘You, perhaps?’ she flung at him furiously, stepping out from behind the desk. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. “What else was I to do?” For some seconds she stood watching him and both were thinking very quickly. It was a precious thing, a beautiful cabochon—do you know what that is?” “What’s a cabochon?” “It’s a precious jewel that doesn’t have facets yet. ’ ‘That depends, that does,’ said Trodger guardedly. She chuckled. “Anna!” he exclaimed hoarsely.
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