"But he is not responsible," he reminded her; "you know that. I can conceive of nothing more pitiable."
She straightened herself, sitting erect.
"I know it. For just a little I thought only of myself. Something must be done. But what? I feel so helpless."
"He'll probably be refused admission to the gardens," said Andrews.
"Then he's sure to make trouble," Nina declared. "There will be a scene and exposure. He may be hurt, too."
"Why not try the sphinx solicitor yourself? I'll go with you."
She sprang up at that.
"It's the only way," she agreed. "He must do something. I'll make him do something."
Five minutes later they were in a taxicab together, rolling through the rain to Fleet Street. Arrived at the Inner Temple, old Mr. Widdicombe received Nina with chilling politeness. She was painfully nervous and obviously distressed.
"I've come about Lord Kneedrock," she said, fingering her handkerchief. "Have you seen him recently?"