Listening on the dimlit landing, he saw Roding’s face muscles tighten. “Why did you lie to that man?” he asked fiercely. “That is where my cervix should be. That is my way, my dear. The entrance was barred against them; and they had the additional mortification of hearing Sheppard's loud laughter at their discomfiture. He passed but a cursory glance over the formal certificate that identified the Frenchman before him as one André Valade, distant cousin to the Vicomte Valade. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands.
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