"Excellently," replied the other. "You see in me Mrs. Augusta Morrison, widow, of Carsphairn, New Galloway, who is in London on a visit to her friend, Ena Pollen, and who is about to be passed as a first-class life!" And she laughed, the other two smiling grimly.
"I congratulate you upon finding that young solicitor. What's his name?"
"Emery—just getting together a practice and looking out for the big commission on the first of my premiums," she said. "We've met those before. Do you recollect that fellow Johnson-Hughes? Phew! what an ass!"
"But he was over head and ears in love with you, my dear Ena," said Boyne, "and you know it."
"Don't be sarcastic, Bernie!" she exclaimed, with a pout. "Whether he was in love with me or not, it doesn't matter. We brought off the little affair successfully, and we all had a share of the pickings. In these post-war profiteering days it is only by callous dishonour and double-dealing one can make both ends meet. It begins in the Cabinet and ends with the marine store dealer. Honesty spells ruin. That's my opinion."
"I quite agree," Lilla declared. "If we had all three played a straight game, where should we be now?"
"Living in Bridge Place," remarked Boyne, whereat the two women laughed merrily.
* * * * *
That night Marigold met Gerald at Mark Lane Station, and they travelled westward together on the way home. In the Underground train they chatted about the mystery of Bridge Place, but amid the crush and turmoil of home-going City workers they could say but little.
Marigold had been again to see her deaf aunt, who was still unsuspicious of the strange state of affairs in her master's humble home.