We walked again along Pall Mall. Passing the Carlton she suddenly clutched at my arm. A little stifled cry escaped her; the color left her cheeks. We increased our speed. Presently she breathed a sigh of relief.
"Heavens, what an escape!" she exclaimed. "Do you think he saw me?"
"Do you mean the young man who was getting out of the taxicab?"
She nodded.
"One of our victims," she murmured; "daddy's victim, rather. I didn't do a thing to him."
"I am quite sure he didn't see you," I told her. "He was struggling to find change."
She sighed once more. The incident seemed to have shaken her.
"The worst of our sort of life is," she confided, "that it must soon come to an end. We have victims all over the place! One of them is bound to turn up and be disagreeable sooner or later."
"I should say, then," I remarked, "that the moment is opportune for a registrar's office and a trip to Abyssinia."
"And leave daddy to face the music alone?" she objected. "It couldn't be done."