, who knew and loved the town, was showing her sights which made her
forget that the Perfumerie Factory, the Mecca of the average tourist,
had any existence.

"I suppose I'll have to settle down now," she said with an expression of
distaste.

"I suppose you will," said Jack, "and you'll have to settle up, too;
your legal expenses are something fierce."

"Why do you say that?" she asked, stopping in her walk and looking at
him gravely.

"I am speaking as your mercenary lawyer," said Jack.

"You are trying to put your service on another level," she corrected. "I
owe everything I have to you. My fortune is the least of these. I owe
you my life three times over."

"Four," he corrected, "and to Marcus Stepney once."

"Why have you done so much for me? Were you interested?" she asked after
a pause.

"Very," he replied. "I was interested in you from the moment I saw you
step out of Mr. Mordon's taxi into the mud, but I was especially
interested in you----"

"When?" she asked.

"When I sat outside your door night after night and discovered you
didn't snore," he said shamelessly, and she went red.

"I hope you'll never refer to your old Jaggs's adventures. It was
very----"

"What?"

"I was going to say horrid, but I shouldn't be telling the truth," she
admitted frankly. "I liked having you there. Poor Mrs. Morgan will be
disconsolate when she discovers that we've lost our lodger."

They walked into the cool of the ancient cathedral and sat down.

"There's something very soothing about a church, isn't there?" he
whispered. "Look at that gorgeous window. If I were ever rich enough to
marry the woman I loved, I should be married in a cathedral like this,
full of old tombs and statues and stained glass."

"How rich would you have to be?" she asked.

"As rich as she is."

She bent over toward him, her lips against his ear.

"Tell me how much money you have," she whispered, "and I'll give away
all I have in excess of that amount."

He caught her hand and held it fast, and they sat there before the altar
of St. Catherine until the sun went down and the disapproving old woman
who acted as the cathedral's caretaker tapped them on the shoulder.

Chapter XLI

"That is Gibraltar," said Marcus Stepney, pointing ahead to a grey shape
that loomed up from the sea.

He was unshaven for he had forgotten to bring his razor and he was
pinched with the cold. His overcoat was turned up to his ears, in spite
of