Chapter 7
AT Brinley Hall Madame Stahm sat at a black-lacquered table, resting her elbows on its polished surface, her long chin in the palm of her hand. At the far end of the table Baumgarten half sat, half sprawled.
"Twelve o'clock. The doctor's cart was to bring her back." Madame Stahm spoke in Russian.
Baumgarten sat up and stretched, flicked a speck from his immaculate evening coat and yawned.
"And I, my dear Clarice, told you that she would never come back."
A deep frown gathered on Madame's brow. "Another spy to combat." she said, her eyes glowering. "And a woman! They are the worst!"
Baumgarten yawned again. "She is no spy. She is frightened, partly of the beast, partly of the noises, but mainly of the beast, I think. You were very stupid to let her see him."
Madame shrugged
