He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. Presently the odour of burnt powder mingled agreeably with that of the incense. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. Sebastian slowed the car after they had traveled seventy miles into the countryside. ‘But how do you come here?’ ‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly. Stanley allowed his paper to drop a little, and scrutinized the hats and brows of their three fellow-travellers.
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