What could I do at home? The other’s a crumple-up—just surrender. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Look! Is that some one coming out?” The front door of the flats stood open, and through it a woman, slim and veiled, passed on to the pavement and turned with swift footsteps in the opposite direction. In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orange was arranged in spiral form. “You will be so good as to leave us your correct name and address, mademoiselle,” he said curtly.
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