James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. “I brought a man with me who is posted outside,” he remarked. Rowland, meantime, alarmed by the voices, snatched a torch from his attendant, and holding it over the side of the wherry, witnessed the incident just described. For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. . Ben had scarcely adjusted his oars, when the gleam of a lantern was seen moving towards the bank.
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