Mark smote the wall a ringing blow with the handle of his poniard. A bench creaked; some one yawned and began to grumble. It was so dark that the very walls were part of the prevailing gloom.
“Who’s there?”
Mark stood aside.
“The cresset’s out on the stairs.”
Two arms came groping along the wall.
“You’ve been asleep, cherub.”
“Mark!”
“You were forgetting our tryst.”
A thick sensual laugh sounded from the stairhead. Something opaque moved in the dark; a pair of arms felt along the passage; a hand touched Mark’s face. Malmain’s arms wrapped the man’s body; she lifted him to her with her great strength, and kissed his lips.