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Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung round the corner she had seen a strange thing. Her mind developed into savage wrath at the present conditions of a woman’s life. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses or the tube. There was no one to be seen in the great hall. The next morning she went out with her post-office savings bank-book, and telegraphed for a warrant to draw out all the money she had in the world. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. Giving him a wide berth, and keeping her pistol high, she made her way to the door and warily peered through it.
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