Presently the odour of burnt powder mingled agreeably with that of the incense. Around her neck was a little gold chain. Saviour's Stairs. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands. She had found the location of his firm on the internet on a library computer, tracing him to this place in New York where he practiced criminal law. It was fastened inside. He suspected a trap. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did not love him, or he knew nothing of love signs. The island was snake-free. His age was not far from fifty.
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