" "Then I'll lend a helping hand. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. ‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor. ‘Oh, Lord,’ muttered Gerald, going instantly to her aid. In the periphery of her vision, she saw the door pulled back. ’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen. But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. And mind you don't arouse his suspicions. At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it. As she raised it, its lower portion fell apart into two baggy crimson masses.
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