He braced his hands against the broad lip and leaned forward. The white froth subsided, and he stared into the blue-green depths.
As clearly as if he were in the midst of the scenes that were taking place in the world below, Teremun could see and hear everything that went on there.
* * * *
Fox Sullivan strode up to the front door of the imposing manor house. He raised his hand to pound on the door, then paused, smoothed that hand over his hair and gave a tug to the cuffs of the sleeves of his brown overcoat. He straightened his shoulders and pulled sedately on the bell pull.
The man who opened the door looked ancient, and the black suit he wore didn’t help. “Yes?” He frowned. “May I help you?”
Fox handed him his card. “I’d like to see Mr Thomas Smythe.”
The butler examined the card. “Captain Smythe is not at home, Mr Sullivan.”
“When will he be back?”
“I’m sure I couldn’t say.”
“Well, is there anyone in this house who can say?”