“You thought I was the shop-lifter!” said Miss Davison demurely.
“Well, I know better now. As I say, you always had this Jones—”
“Whose name is not Jones at all.”
“Well, you had this fellow who calls himself Jones to help you and to stand by you.”
“Yes. My uncle, who gives advice to the police in important cases still, though he has practically retired, picked out this man as one he could rely upon to help me.”
“And now I suppose you will marry him?” said Gerard fiercely.
Miss Davison looked demurely down on the pavement.
“He has a wife,” she said, “and three, if not four, children.”
“Thank God!”
Miss Davison suddenly stopped and held out her hand.