” There was never any shortage of bad men to eat, especially with pestilence and superstition to cover their tracks. “You are in trouble,” he said. ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. Capes was irritatingly judicial in the matter, neither absurdly against, in which case one might have smashed him, or hopelessly undecided, but tepidly sceptical. It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn.
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