This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. ‘Alors, now I am also a murderer. But of what use to wear it when there was no one of importance to see and admire? ‘For shame, Melusine,’ protested Lucy, as the butler bowed himself out of the room. Finding it impossible to descend on any side, without incurring serious risk, Jack resolved to return for his blanket, by the help of which he felt certain of accomplishing a safe landing on the roof of the house in Giltspur Street.
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