” “Let us say that Café Maston, in the Boulevard des Italiennes, at half-past seven then,” he decided. . " "Constance alive? Impossible!" ejaculated Trenchard. Ascertaining that it was Sheppard of whom this concourse was in pursuit, the two horsemen leapt the hedge, and were presently close upon him. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son.
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