She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror. “Ungracious little beast, I call her. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. There are boats on the lake and shady depths and wildernesses of pine-wood. Don’t look so frightened. She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. “That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. When I gave him an invitation to supper, I little thought he'd accept it. Who could say that the two weren't in collusion? When a chap like Spurlock jumped the traces, cherchez la femme, every time. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse.
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