‘I am saying so,’ protested Gerald mildly. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. “Bring any new songs you may have. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. The young lady with frizzled hair, whom Brendon had pointed out to her as Miss Ellicot, leaned forward from her hostess’s side.
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