The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. He looked just as Julian had the night she had first met him outside the Joliet Laundromat. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. ’ ‘Of what use to be ladylike when I cannot be a lady?’ ‘None of that. ’ ‘About me?’ The lady’s lashes fluttered and her fan came up. “Your best route will be via Boulogne and Folkestone at nine o’clock from the Gare du Nord. “My dear Anna,” he answered. He recognized the handwriting, and turned a shade paler. "Did you write it?" "No. You cannot tell whether you know him or not until you have seen him. You know as well as I do that it was accident.
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