and
possibly he included amongst the former the recollection of a girl whose
shoelaces Lollie Marsh was not fit to tie.

She took a delight in torturing herself with pictures of her own
humiliation, though she may have counted it to the good that she was
capable of feeling humiliated at all. She finished her trunk, squeezed
in the last article and locked down the lid. She looked at her wrist
watch--it was half-past nine. Stafford King had not asked to see her,
and she had the evening free.

She had only spoken the truth when she had told Boundary that the police
chief had made no inquiries as to the gang. Stafford King knew human
nature rather well, and he would not make the mistake of questioning
her. Or perhaps it was because he did not wish to spoil the value of his
gifts by fixing a price--the price of treachery.

She wondered what the colonel was doing, and Pinto--and Crewe. She
impatiently stamped her foot. She was indulging in the kind of insanity
of which hitherto she had shown no symptoms. She looked at her watch
again and then remembered the Orpheum. It was a favourite house of hers.
She could always get a free box if there was one vacant, and she had
spent many of her lonely evenings in that way. She had always declined
Pinto's offer to share his own, and of late he had got out of the habit
of inviting her.

She dressed and took a taxi to the Orpheum. The booking office clerk
knew her, and without asking her desires drew a slip from the ticket
rack.

"I can give you Box C to-night, Miss Marsh," he said. "That is the one
above the governor's."

The "governor" was Pinto.

"Have you a good house?"

The youth shook his head.

"We're not having the houses we had when Miss White was here," he said.
"What's become of her, miss?"

"I don't know," said Lollie shortly.

She had to pass to the back of Pinto's box to reach the little staircase
which led to the box above. She thought she heard voices, and stopping
at the door, listened. Perhaps Crewe had come down or the colonel. But
it was not Crewe's voice she heard. The door was slightly ajar, and the
man who was talking was evidently on the point of departure, because she
glimpsed his hand upon the handle and his voice was so distinct that he
must have been quite near her.

"----three o'clock in the morning. You can't miss the aerodrome. It is a
mile out of Bromley on the main road and on the right. You will see
three red lamps burning in a triangle."