Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. She remembered possessing it during the Gold Rush. . ’ ‘What is all this about your proof?’ demanded Roding, diverted. He’s out in Phoenix last I heard. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. I’ve never wanted to get away so much. She was marvellously pretty, but he was not quite sure—yet—that it was advisable for him to sit with her in so public a place.
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