“Then we must go,” said Blanche. “Why you’re still alive I can’t imagine. Have there been any riots yet?”
“Not that I know of,” said Titus. “I haven’t had much time for the papers lately. In the last ten days——”
“Well, there will be soon,” said Blanche. “To-morrow probably. Come on.”
“What on earth d’you mean?” said Titus dazedly. “What riots?”
“Listen,” cried Blanche, catching him by his lapels “This evening—no matter why—I, er, called on a Mr. Blatchbourne. He’s got a house in Kent. Well——”
“Blatchbourne,” said Titus. “Blatchbourne. Now, where have I seen that name?”
Suddenly the truth dawned upon him—and with it came daylight in one blinding flash.
Blanche was about to play straight into his hands.
He had meant to show her the letters of violent complaint. He had meant them to frighten her out of her very life. And then, when she had decided that they must fly, he had meant to announce his intention of carrying on. Finally, he had meant to give way—upon certain terms.
With a truly lightning brain he picked up his cue.