Prison was bleak without spaciousness, and pervaded by a faint, oppressive smell; and she had to wait two hours in the sullenly defiant company of two unclean women thieves before a cell could be assigned to her. She even hit the jackpot in 1952 when she found a photograph in a London issue of Vogue. He regarded that perennial miracle of pinning with wrathful eyes. What was the name on those marriage lines you showed me?’ ‘M—Melusine,’ stammered the woman, her countenance yet registering shock. Pure luck! But for that bottle of whisky, nobody in the Hong-Kong Hotel would have been able to identify the photograph; and at this hour James Boyle O'Higgins would have been on the way to Yokohama, and the trail lost for ever. It was empty. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life.
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