It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. ’ ‘And your precious vicomte didn’t wish for the English one,’ said Charvill, acid in his voice. "Answer me one question first?" he said; "I half suspect you're Jack Sheppard. I daresay you have the whole thing wrong, Gerald.
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