Earles glanced at it, and his eyes flashed with anger. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. He followed. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. ’ Grudgingly, the sergeant shifted aside and allowed her access to the stairs, grumbling to her retreating back, ‘If I’d me way, missie, I’d send you back to France where you ought never to have come away from, if you arst me. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. The detective reckoned that his quarry would be up in ten days more.
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