“There’s morbid beauty,” said Ann Veronica. CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. She had seen her really only at teas, with the Stanley strain in her uppermost. Her body was perpetually tanned, despite the approach of winter. Between the Jew and the attendant came Jack Sheppard; while a crowd of servants, attracted by the news, that the investigation of a robbery was going forward, lingered at the doorway in hopes of catching something of the proceedings. Perhaps, after all, the others were right. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew. That dress! Only a man—and an unworldly one—would have permitted you to proceed on your adventure dressed in a gown thirty years out of date. And yet he knew clearly and definitely what he purposed to do, what the future would be. He hung round those broad waters from noon until three and realized that he had embarked upon a wild-goose chase.
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