“I may go to Hatton House later, but you needn’t wait. ” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe. Noiselessly, his booted feet stepping with careful restraint, he started forward, signalling to Roding to follow. ‘I don’t want that girl running her head into any more danger. . Both McCloskeys disappeared on the same night, without a single trace. “What would you like to hear? Some J.
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