Listening on the dimlit landing, he saw Roding’s face muscles tighten. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. Never mind, I’ve got plenty. ’ ‘In any event,’ Gerald told her, with a grin, ‘I can’t marry this one. You have spoken her name, I think, Marthe. This formidable person, who was no other than the renowned Figg, the "Atlas of the sword," as he is termed by Captain Godfrey, had removed his hat and "skull covering," and was wiping the heat from his bepatched and closeshaven pate.
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