Chapter Eight For an instant in the silence that followed, shocked into immobility, Melusine stared in horror at the body lying there so still. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. ‘Do you think it is the man in the moon that I mean? What is it that Gérard has told you?’ ‘That you need help. “I’ve plenty of pals,” he said, “who, when they’ve been doing Paris on the Q. And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female.
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