with his bare fists, rescued the girl. … All with one foot in the grave! Fifty-two, gray haired—with a prospect of rheumatism on the morrow—and putting it over like a debonair movie idol!
Hawksley met these pleasantries halfway by grousing about being babied when there was nothing the matter with him but his head, his body, and his legs. … Why didn't she look at him? What was the meaning of this persistent avoidance? She must have forgiven last night. She was too much of a thoroughbred to harbour ill feeling over that. Why didn't she look at him?
The telephone called Cutty from the room. Kitty went into the dining room for an extra pair of salt cellars and delayed her return until she heard Cutty coming back.
"Karlov is dead," he announced. "Started a fight in the taxi, got out, and was making for safety when one of the boys shot him. He hadn't the jewels on him, John. I'm afraid they are gone, unless he hid them somewhere in that What's the matter, Kitty?"
For Kitty had dropped the salt cellars and pressed her hands against her bosom, her face colourless.
Hawksley, terrified, tried to get up.
"No, no! Nothing is the matter with me but my head. … To think I could forget! Good—heavens!" She prolonged the words drolly. "Wait."
She turned her back to them. When she faced
