ind answering to your age, I'm sure."

Even Jervy's villainous experience of the world failed to forewarn him
of what was coming. Phoebe, it is needless to say, instantly fell into
the trap.

"Twenty-four," she replied, "next birthday."

"And the child was put into my hands, sixteen years ago," said Mrs.
Sowler. "Take sixteen from twenty-four, and eight remains. I'm more
surprised than ever, miss, at your knowing it to be a girl. It couldn't
have been your child--could it?"

Phoebe started to her feet, in a state of fury. "Do you hear that?" she
cried, appealing to Jervy. "How dare you bring me here to be insulted by
that drunken wretch?"

Mrs. Sowler rose, on her side. The old savage snatched up her empty
glass--intending to throw it at Phoebe. At the same moment, the ready
Jervy caught her by the arm, dragged her out of the room, and shut the
door behind them.

There was a bench on the landing outside. He pushed Mrs. Sowler down on
the bench with one hand, and took Phoebe's purse out of his pocket with
the other. "Here's a pound," he said, "towards the recovery of that
debt of yours. Go home quietly, and meet me at the door of this house
tomorrow evening, at six."

Mrs. Sowler, opening her lips to protest, suddenly closed them again,
fascinated by the sight of the gold. She clutched the coin, and became
friendly and familiar in a moment. "Help me downstairs, deary," she
said, "and put me into a cab. I'm afraid of the night air."

"One word more, before I put you into a cab," said Jervy. "What did you
really do with the child?"

Mrs. Sowler grinned hideously, and whispered her reply, in the strictest
confidence.

"Sold her to Moll Davies, for five-and-sixpence."

"Who was Moll Davis?"

"A cadger."

"And you really know nothing now of Moll Davis or the child?"

"Should I want you to help me if I did?" Mrs. Sowler asked
contemptuously. "They may be both dead and buried, for all I know to the
contrary."

Jervy put her into the cab, without further delay. "Now for the other
one!" he said to himself, as he hurried back to the private room.

CHAPTER 5

Some men would have found it no easy task to console Phoebe, under
the circumstances. Jervy had the immense advantage of not feeling
the slightest sympathy for her: he was in full command of his large
resources of fluent assurance and ready flattery. In less than five
minutes, Phoebe's tears were dried, and her lover had his arm round her
waist agai