Melion put down the telephone with a grunt of satisfaction. Ghale had reported that St. Cyprian and Gallowglass were even now racing off in that ridiculous motorcar of his towards Mayfair.
A surge of triumphant satisfaction momentarily drowned out the nagging fear that had been growing within him since the theft. “I knew it. I knew it!” The words exploded out of him, puncturing the carefully cultivated serenity of his sitting room. He pounded the arms of his chair with knotted fists. “I told...