‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. There he was, standing with a group of men who she presumed to be the other richest men in the world. Inside was the blue stone she had lost in the 1800’s. ‘Now then, missie, where do you think you’re going?’ ‘I must see Jacques only for one little minute,’ Melusine told him prettily, fluttering her lashes. He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance.
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