As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. She tried to appear as if she had never been questioned before. “Your best route will be via Boulogne and Folkestone at nine o’clock from the Gare du Nord. We find out no man will treat a woman fairly as man to man—no man. They were a young man and an old one, and both appeared deeply affected. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. I——” She threw herself into an easy chair. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound.
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