For a few minutes, Darrell seemed to have the advantage in the conflict. . I've told you about him; and you wrote a shrewd yarn on the subject. I want to know who sent you those. Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. Wanting his coat, when he must have known that the pockets were empty! But the effort to talk had cost him something. If you don’t think it would be a social outrage, perhaps I might walk with you to your railway station. ” “I wanted to, John. “I am under police surveillance,” she said.
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