“You’re Janvier’s daughter!” I blurted.
“Excellent!” she approved me and I felt like a boy in school.
She had been leaning slightly forward, not exactly tense, not at ease, either. Poised was the word for it; she’d been poised ever since I entered. Now she sat back more comfortably, being no longer in suspense about how much I knew.
“George was your friend Magellan?” I asked.
“That’s what you named him.”
“Felice also was present at the Feather?”
“She was the one who led you into the shed.”
“I’m indebted,” I acknowledged; and conversation languished.
For a second more I stared at her, as gay and piquant a little thing as ever a twenty-hour-train boasted; then, decidedly stumped as to my next step, I stared a while out the window.