“Stop!” said the woman. “You’ve a duty to me, too. Hold fast to your money. Likely as not, you’ll do neither with ‘Take A Chance’ Anderson floating around.”
It was not her words, neither the contempt in her voice nor the insult which stung him. The man who went twenty rounds with Kid Muldoon had learnt to control his temper, but there was a new factor present—a factor who wore a plain grey dress, and had two big, black eyes which were now solemnly surveying him.
“Lady Maxell,” he said, “it is pretty difficult to give the lie to any woman, but I tell you that what you say now is utterly false. I had no intention when I came to Bournemouth of asking for anything that would cost Sir John a penny. As to my past, I suppose it has been a little eccentric, but it is clean, Lady Maxell.”
He meant no more than he said. He had no knowledge of Sadie O’Grady’s antecedents, or he might not have emphasised the purity of his own. But the woman went back as though she had been whipped, and Timothy had a momentary vision of a charging fury, before she flung herself upon him, tearing at his face, shrieking aloud in her rage. . .
“Phew!” said Timothy.
He took off his hat and fanned himself. It was the first time he had ever run away from trouble, but now he had almost flown. Those favoured people who were in sight of Sir John Maxell’s handsome villa, saw the door swung open and a young man taking the front path in four strides and the gate in another before he sped like the wind along the street.
“Phew!” said Timothy again.
He went the longest way back to his hotel, to find that a telephone message had been received from Sir John. It was short and to the point.
“Please don’t come again.”