The odds were astounding and yet he had it bad. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. It was she who had come out from the flat only a few minutes before. ‘Um—begging your pardon, sir, but—um—what was you meaning to arrest the young lady for?’ ‘Trespassing, theft, and suspicion of spying,’ announced Roding fluently. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. Then he got up and left her. "A knowledge of the ways of men. You simply can’t. " "Whom do you mean?" demanded Jackson.
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