“It is part of the irony of life,” he said. ‘What are you after this time, miss?’ asked Jack. “Oh, you can act!” she cried. “Married already,” he said, with his mouth full. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. ‘Jacques? You have done it? He is alive?’ ‘Oh, he’s alive, all right,’ confirmed the sergeant, putting the petrified Pottiswick—stockstill and staring in horror at the dagger—firmly out of his way and taking his place before Melusine.
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