He lunched in the Legal Club in Chancery Lane, and met Ogilvy. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. He stood up, apparently intending to put an arm about her, but she stepped back from him quickly. ‘Good God!’ uttered Roding. ‘Nevertheless, he will neither help me, nor will I seek his help. He had been very easy or she had been very lucky. The gentleman with the red beard will relieve you of your prisoner. I’m going to that stupid party at the Vorsack’s to get to the bottom of it. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. ” He paced the room for a minute or two restlessly.
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