The woman Mytor had called Irene was still standing by the table when the gunner had left with the note and his money.
"Aren't you going to ask me to sit down?"
"Certainly. Sit down."
"I'd like a drink."
She sipped her wine in silence and Ransome studied her by the flickering light of the candle burning on the table between them.
She wore a simple street dress now, in contrast to the gaudy, revealing garments of the pleasure house women. The beauty of her soft, unpainted lips, her golden skin and wide-set green eyes was more striking now, seen at close range, than it had been in the smoky cavern of Mytor's place.
"What are you thinking now, Ransome?"
The question was unexpected, and Ransome answered without forethought: "The Temple."
"You studied for the priesthood of the Dark One yourself."
"Did Mytor tell you that?"