Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking. It was apparent, and then it faded into the quality of an inevitable necessity. There’s that old gentleman at the end of the table—Bullding his name is. . ’ Mrs Sindlesham shook with laughter. He was snoring stupidly. “TROUSERS!” she whispered. “Your name and address were upon an envelope found in the pocket of an Englishman who was brought here late last night suffering from serious injuries,” he said in a dry official tone. “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said. And then came the vile experience of being forced and borne along the street to the police-station. His face was white. Sebastian had come to visit his old friend and former wife.
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