Alarmed by these prognostications of a storm, and feeling too much exhausted from his late severe treatment to proceed further on foot, Wood endeavoured to find a tavern where he might warm and otherwise refresh himself. But on arriving in the tattered saloon where he and Melusine had hidden, a shock awaited Gerald. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. 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. “You are their friend, then?” “I am,” Courtlaw answered. ‘There is little I can do at present.
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