It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. It was the girl. ’ ‘Idiot. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. " "Proceed, Sir," said Trenchard, breathing hard. ‘She?’ ‘Damnation!’ He saw her frown, and added at once, ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. “I do not even know who you are. "Close the doors below! Loose the dogs! Curses! they don't hear me! I'll ring the alarm-bell.
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