’ Chapter Three Captain Hilary Roding listened with only half an ear to the long-winded report being given by Sergeant Trodger, his idle gaze wandering over the congested traffic of Piccadilly and the many pedestrians weaving a hazardous path through it. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. ‘I take it that you like this great-niece of mine?’ ‘One cannot help but do so. The rest. But they did what they could for her. I’m glad 237 you came over. “You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces.
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