One look was enough for them, I suppose. It would have fixed me, I know. I heard Hugh's boyish gasp, and Nikka's apology.
"It was a mistake, madame. A friend is missing. We thought—"
"Here there are only ourselves," she assured them holding the door wider.
Hugh cursed bluntly in Anglo-Saxon, and the guard joined his voice in hectic phraseology. Hélène slowly reclosed the door.
"The light once more, Toutou," she whispered, and then she sank on the seat and laughed as she had before like a schoolgirl on a lark.
Toutou's face was demoniac despite beard and glasses. Hélène saw the purple flush on my cheeks, my straining nostrils.
"Beast!" she hissed. And she slapped him with her bare hand. He cowered before her. She snatched the gag from my lap, and readjusted it. "Go!" She pointed her finger toward the other end of the compartment, and Toutou shambled away cat-fashion. "He will murder you yet, Mr. Nash," she said cheerfully. "And I don't want you to get it into your head that I am going to keep on saving you indefinitely."
She rearranged her hair, picked up her waist and skirt, and put them on as casually as though she was in her boudoir.
"This writing that you found," she resumed her questioning, "is it definite? You may nod or shake your head."
I did neither.