“About thirteen hundred pounds. It isn't much, of course. But there is something else—”
“Worse?”
Rosek nodded.
“I am afraid to tell you; you will think again perhaps that I am trying to make capital out of it. I can read your thoughts, you see. I cannot afford that you should think that, this time.”
Gyp made a little movement as though putting away his words.
“No; tell me, please.”
Rosek shrugged his shoulders.
“There is a man called Wagge, an undertaker—the father of someone you know—”
“Daphne Wing?”
“Yes. A child is coming. They have made her tell. It means the cancelling of her engagements, of course—and other things.”