She made a slow tour of the front of the house without success, and then started back along the rooms behind, dragging open the drapes each time to get just enough light to recognise what was on the walls. She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one. Mr. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. His deduction was correct that the beauty of Ruth Enschede could not remain hidden long even on a forgotten isle. In Larry’s old Cadillac sedan, she sat in the backseat as Larry drove and Cathy sat beside him. Her back had stiffened, and her hazel eyes looked steadfastly ahead.
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