The telegram reminded Ann Veronica that she had no place for interviews except her bed-sitting-room, and she sought her landlady and negotiated hastily for the use of the ground floor parlor, which very fortunately was vacant. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. The crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends. Cursed him for his devotion that had made him come back for her, only to get himself shot by the fiendish Gosse.
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