“Dear friend,” she said, “remember that you are speaking to one who has failed in the only serious object which she has ever sought to accomplish. He shut his eyes and groped for the wall to steady himself, wondering if this bit of mummery would get over. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. Leonardo he was my—’ ‘Don’t say it,’ Gerald cut in hoarsely. I don’t care WHAT happens. James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. He drove her to the Beck house, pulling up behind Cathy's red Nissan.
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