” “I am staying,” she answered coolly, “at a small boarding-house near Russell Square. But next moment, Captain Roding put up her back. “You be off, missie,” said the fatherly policeman. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands. While this was going on, Blueskin, seeing no notice whatever taken of him, coughed loudly and repeatedly. Furious shouting, and the thunder of running feet. How to hold her, how to keep her at his side; this was the problem with which he struggled. “Well,” she said. The affair passed at one leap from a spree to a nightmare of violence and disgust.
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