Out of Context

The Sins of Séverac Bablon
Sax Rohmer

Dulwich Village was reached at last, and the cab was drawn up on a corner bearing a signpost.

“Which house did you want, miss?”

“I want Laurel Cottage.”

The taxi-man scratched his head.

“You see, some of the houses in the village aren’t numbered,” he said; “and I don’t know this part very well. I never heard of Laurel Cottage. Any idea which way it lies?”

“Not the slightest. Do you think you could find out for me?

A policeman was standing on the opposite corner, and, crossing, the taxi-man held some conversation with him. He returned very shortly.

“It’s round at the back of the College buildings, miss,” he reported.

Again the cab proceeded onward. This was a curiously lonely spot, more lonely than Zoe could have believed to exist within so short a distance from the ever-throbbing heart of London. She began to wish that she had shared her secret with another; that she had a companion. After all, how little, how very little, she knew of Séverac Bablon. With all her romantic and mystic qualities Zoe was at heart a shrewd American girl, and not one to be readily beguiled by any man, however fascinating. She was not afraid, but she admitted to herself that the expedition was compromising, if not dangerous.