“I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. The police are concerned in it in either event. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. “You killed them, didn’t you?” He said. But as the mystery which surrounded Ruth fell away that which enveloped her father thickened.
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