The manager twisted his moustache. ‘Bête. " Sir Rowland's brow darkened. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. Something seemed awry. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. And meanwhile, we’ll just have these no doubt potentially lethal little claws of yours out of harm’s way. “And I’m not happy. “Call it warning, if you like. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “these gentlemen are your friends, and therefore they are my friends. It’s wrong in the eyes of most people.
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