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’ Chapter Nine As she devoured the simple meal of bread and cheese, and several slices of cold roast beef, the whole washed down with a poor sort of coffee, Melusine listened with avid interest to the details of her mother’s life as revealed by the exclamatory conversation of Joan Ibstock. The Chapel. They had got all this down already—they heard the substance of it now for the fourteenth time. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. He drew a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallowness of his mind. She was beauty, the key of magic, the teacher of spells, the predictor of wars, and the gate of the future. Furiously, she dashed his hands away. And then came the vile experience of being forced and borne along the street to the police-station. "Now your curiosity's satisfied, child," continued Kneebone, "perhaps, you'll attend to my orders.
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