92 She did not notice the police car sitting near the Beck house until they were pulling into the driveway. Martha had been careful to make no mention of Melusine, and did not reply to Mrs Ibstock’s enquiry about the fate of the little babe. He drew a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallowness of his mind. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily.
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