She ducked behind a pile of unused drywall. “What are you two whispering about?” She turned towards Martin. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. She glared at him with satisfaction. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. ’ Fresh suspicion kindled in his breast. “You are Mademoiselle Pellissier?” he asked, without rising to his feet.
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