“There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. The man’s statement was explicit, and spoken with confidence. Two or three podgy-looking old men with wives to match, half-a-dozen overdressed girls, and a couple of underdressed American ones, who still wore the clothes in which they had been tramping half over London since breakfast time. He’s a footman who works for the nuns and has taken up the cudgels on her behalf. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. ’ Roding started. " "Make good your assertions," cried Trenchard, furiously, "or——" "To the proof," interrupted the stranger, calmly. “Hola Marteen!” She exclaimed cheerfully. Then for a time she forgot the Fadden affair altogether. In a voice husky with suppressed despair, she answered. "Restore it," he cried, in an authoritative voice. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual.
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