They took her fingerprints sitting at the gray metal desk of Officer Nolte, the virile young buck who had brought her in. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. While she worked, Melusine worried over the problem of getting Jack home. The lady looked them over in silence, and then pouting lips trembled, dark eyelashes fluttered, and in a broken voice, she pleaded, ‘Honoured messieurs, you will not allow this—this pig, to be thus cruel? He cannot arrest me.
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