Arrived in Paris she remembered that she had not the money for a fiacre. Gerald took Madame’s hand and kissed the fingers with a little more warmth than punctilio demanded. Wood, meanwhile, had summoned his men-servants, and having armed them with such weapons as could be found, they proceeded to the garden, where the first object they encountered was Thames Darrell, extended on the ground, and weltering in his blood. As the night advanced, Mr. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas.
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