The conversation turned towards the subject of the Diedermayer’s many European vacations. Unconscious that his movements were watched, Shotbolt, meanwhile, hastened towards Wych Street. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword. She wrapped her legs about his hips as he raised himself upon straight arms, piercing her with his gaze as he thrust into her. “What a little brick!” he murmured. “I——” The door opened, and the doctor entered softly. She felt a storm of emotion surging up within her. He then barred and double-locked the door, took out the key, (a precautionary measure which, with a grim smile, he said he never omitted,) thrust it into his vest, and motioning the couple to follow him, led the way to the inner room. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously.
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