From a bi-secting street came shouting and music. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. “I am staying at the Savoy. ” “Two years ago,” she answered. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. ‘That is imbecile. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. That’s all. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. " "Say the word, and I'm mum," returned the executioner.
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