"Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. K-kimble, sir,’ stammered the lad. He saw her young and graceful back as she descended from the carriage, severely ignoring him, and recalled a glimpse he had of her face, bright and serene, as his train ran out of Wimbledon. She is something different. It can wait a bit longer. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. She ought to have leapt back on guard. It would be the culmination of her plan. She will tell you all the story while I am gone. She dismissed the idea of doing so. I drew out what I had saved and boarded the first ship out. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive.
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