CHAPTER VNo magnificent painted tiger all polish and stripes could have been more mysterious and sinister to Jean than Reggie rising up before her in his comfortable shooting-clothes after breakfast in his study.
The room they were to work in looked as if nothing but a dog or a pipe had ever entered it. All the walls were covered with pictures of horses, not very good pictures, but obviously very good horses. On each side of the deep stone fireplace sat a golden setter, with watchful amber eyes fixed like flames upon their master. He had told them to keep still and they kept still, but the quality of their stillness was the most intense and active restlessness that Jean had ever encountered. Their eyes shifted to her for a moment as she entered the room, their ears, pricked to the highest
