” They left the restaurant just as the rain slowed to a dull trickle, the fury of the storm exhausted, having left mirror puddles in its wake. ’ ‘Pray don’t,’ begged Mrs Sindlesham, one eye on the general’s embattled features. ” Sir John, frankly oblivious of the possibility of passers-by, took her into his arms and kissed her. ‘Never. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. “There ought to be some means of getting at him,” he said. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation.
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