His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. A woman has a perfect right to choose her own husband, but Nigel seemed to think that there was something a little mysterious about your treatment of him. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. And, also, she wanted to borrow that money. He had seen the announcement of your marriage in the papers, and he imagined that I simply wanted to remain unknown because of your husband’s puritanism. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. “Martin, I don’t know what to say. I could tell it was Italian, you see. ‘Am I a fool? Can I blow off a head with a pistol which is not loaded?’ ‘She has a point,’ conceded Alderley, relaxing a little as amusement burgeoned again ‘Ten to one she is a French spy,’ burst from Roding. " He had now gained the high road.
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