Anna nodded as she briskly crossed the pavement. As he fell, he caught at the projecting masonry. ’ ‘A French ghost?’ ‘Well, it ain’t a rat this time, Major, I can promise you that,’ Pottiswick had rejoined, his tone affronted. “It is unimportant,” she said. She shut her lips hard, her jaw hardened, and she set herself to struggle with him. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. ‘Major, sir!’ The major appeared so swiftly that Melusine was instantly suspicious.
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