And not a worthy tome in sight. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. That had taken her by surprise, and her tired wits had failed her. "It happened, gentlemen," pursued the Master, "on a particular occasion, about the time I've mentioned, that the Archduke of Alsatia, the Sovereign of the Savoy, and the Satrap of Salisbury Court, met by accident at the Cross Shovels. She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy kicking this man to death. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. "But you are a good man, and you'll understand. Put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit. They were going up the slope into Waterloo Station. What other reason could there be? It’s more complex, but it’s better.
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