‘What mischief?’ ‘I don’t know, but I’ll go bail you’re at something. ’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought. It was the blouse that gave Lucy away. Let me keep you from that man’s clutches. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. Slowly a mirthless and very unpleasant smile dawned upon his face.
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