"The fact is," I said, "I and two friends have formed a Company for the purpose of removing objectionable people in the interests of Humanity. We look on it entirely from the philanthropic point of view. It is our hobby."
She nodded her head gravely, and said: "It sounds rather out of the way, and rather dreadful. And—and last night—you—you murdered a man?"
"Well, I helped one of my friends knock a rising King of Finance on the head."
"You didn't knock him on the head yourself?"
"No; I knocked his hat off."
"Oh," she said, with a sigh of relief, "that makes all the difference."
"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" I said quickly, though for the life of me I couldn't see where the difference came in.
"Who was it?" she said, with a much brighter face.
"A rascally swindler, called Pudleigh."
"Pudleigh?" she cried. "Not Albert Amsted Pudleigh?"
"That was the rascal's name."
Her beautiful face turned savage, and she said: "Oh, I am glad. I am so glad!"
"You're glad?" I cried, beyond measure astonished. "Why—why—you must be Miss Pavis!"
"Yes, I'm Angel Pavis."
