He was safe, out of the beaten track, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. ‘But what is it that amuses you, Jacques?’ Kimble’s grin spread wider. His grip twisted her wrist. ’ ‘I am afraid that there is,’ Gerald told her evenly. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. I’ll need you to go back to the barracks and fetch more men up to town. He would have to sit down here in Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks. ‘I’m following a scent. I rather want them.
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