“What’s the objection?” “I suppose she ought to know?” said Gwen to her mother, trying to alter the key of the conversation. "We work together no more. Hilary could not have suggested such a thing. A modest drinking bout which had its windup in a fan-tan house over in Kowloon, where O'Higgins tussled with varying fortune until five in the morning. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it. His father was one of my old customers, and I am happy to find his son treading in his steps. "You soon shall," rejoined Sheppard.
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