"Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. Her efforts were vain. ” She threw away the end of her cigarette. "I should like to meet the man who would dare to gainsay it. But that explains everything. For a nun at night it is less dangerous than for the jeune demoiselle. "Surely," he added, staring at Rowland, "either I'm greatly mistaken, or it is—" "You are not mistaken, Baptist," returned Rowland with a gesture of silence; "it is your old friend.
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