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Chink in The Armour
A small, shiny,
pink card lay on the round table in Sylvia
Bailey's sitting-room at the Hôtel de l'Horloge
She had become quite accustomed to finding one
or more cards—cards from dressmakers, cards from
corset-makers, cards from hairdressers—lying on
her sitting-room table, but there had never been
a card quite like this card.
Although it was pink, it looked more like a
visiting-card than a tradesman's advertisement,
and she took it up with some curiosity. It was
inscribed "Madame Cagliostra," and underneath
the name were written the words "Diseuse de la
Bonne Aventure," and then, in a corner, in very
small black letters, the address, "5, Rue Jolie,
A fortune-teller's card? What an extraordinary
Out The Vasty Deep
"I always thought that you, Pegler, were
such a very sensible woman."
The words were said in a good-natured, though
slightly vexed tone; and a curious kind of smile
flitted over the rather grim face of the person
to whom they were addressed.
"I've never troubled you before in this exact
way, have I, ma'am?"
"No, Pegler. That you certainly have not."
Miss Farrow looked up from the very comfortable
armchair where she was sitting—leaning back,
with her neatly shod, beautifully shaped feet
stretched out to the log fire. Her maid was
standing a little to the right, her spare figure
and sallow face lit up by the flickering,
shooting flames, for the reading-lamp at Miss
Farrow's elbow was heavily shaded...
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