“A confusion of motives—that’s what I am!. ” Courtlaw seemed about to say something. She rolled to one side. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. “A joke! Sir John, if you had presented yourself here an hour ago we should have greeted you in pained silence. ‘This is altogether insupportable!’ She dug a hand into the recesses of the petticoat of her riding habit and a moment later Gerald found himself once again confronting the barrel of her overlarge and tarnished pistol. Behind every one of these myriad fronts she passed there must be a career or careers. But it was only six-thirty.
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