He called a waiter. Not a word had been exchanged between the two boys on the road. No one could take the place for anything but what it was, and even Gosse hesitated in the doorway. ‘I can’t help but be sure,’ he returned shortly. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. Mike answered the door while still toweling his hands dry. She listened, listened intently for several minutes.
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