He turned in at the club. “The Widgetts,” she said. He looked at her reproachfully. I pledged my thumb that, dead or alive, I'd pay the wager if I lost; and I should like to be as good as my word. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. The Frenchman was already being followed. “But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. “You will go and see her,” he begged.
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