VII. — “BLONDEL THE TROUBADOUR”
“Oh,” said Murrel rather blankly. “Oh, yes...Anything to oblige.”
In her eagerness Olive Ashley had darted past him into the library, without waiting for the assistance of the librarian, who continued to stare into the depths of the distance with blind but shining eyes. She lugged down a lumbering volume from one of the lower shelves and laid it open at a blazoned page on which the letters seemed to have come to life and to be crawling about like gilded dragons. In one corner was the image of the many-headed monster of the Apocalypse; and even to the careless eye of her companion, its tint glowed across the ages with a red that had the purity of flame.
“Do you mean,” he asked, “that I am to go hunting that particular animal through the streets of London?”
