But ship that girl east as soon as you can. Had he come to see her to find if she needed something? No. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. Two or three podgy-looking old men with wives to match, half-a-dozen overdressed girls, and a couple of underdressed American ones, who still wore the clothes in which they had been tramping half over London since breakfast time. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. I'm ready to bear it all. ‘Don’t involve me in your lover’s tiff. That is very bad, certainly, and for this he was extremely sorry. He turned in at the club. “I’ve fallen in love. They do not come for me, to find me and bring me home. ‘But a spy I am not.
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