He reeled against the horsehair easy-chair and slipped on to the floor.
Pamela calmly closed her ring, stooped over him, withdrew the key from
his pocket, crossed the room and the dingy little hall with swift
footsteps, and, without waiting for the lift, fled down the stone
steps. Before she reached the bottom, she heard the shrill ringing of
the lift bell, the angry shouting of the woman. Pamela, however,
strolled quietly out and took her place in the car.

"Back to the hotel, George," she directed the chauffeur. "Don't stop if
they call to you from the flats."

The young man sprang up to his seat and the car glided off. Pamela
leaned forward and looked at herself in the mirror. There was a shade
more colour in her face, perhaps, than usual, but her low waves of
chestnut hair were unruffled. She used her powder puff with attentive
skill and leaned back.

"That's the disagreeable part of it over, anyway," she sighed to
herself contentedly.




CHAPTER IV


The last of the supper-guests had left Henry's Restaurant, the
commissionaire's whistle was silent. The light laughter and frivolous
adieux of the departing guests seemed to have melted away into a world
somewhere beyond the pale of the unseasonable fog. The little strip of