Louise left her brougham in Piccadilly and walked across the Green
Park. Bellamy, who was waiting, rose up from a seat, hat in hand.
She took his arm in foreign fashion. They walked together towards
Buckingham Palace - a strangely distinguished-looking couple.

"My dear David," she said, "the man perplexes me. To look at him,
to hear him speak, one would swear that he was honest. He has just
those clear blue eyes and the stolid face, half stupid and half
splendid, of your athletic Englishman. One would imagine him doing
a foolishly honorable thing, but he is not my conception of a
criminal at all."

Bellamy kicked a pebble from the path. His forehead wore a perplexed
frown.

"He didn't give himself away, then?"

"Not in the least."

"He took you out and showed you the spot where it happened?"

"Without an instant's hesitation."

"As a matter of curiosity," asked Bellamy, "did he try to make
love to you?"

She shook her head.

"I even gave him an opening," she said. "Of flirtation he has no
more idea than the average stupid Englishman one meets."