She used his own gun against him, a method that was occasionally cleaner than slitting throats when she got it right. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. . “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. Then the girl was heading past the inn and Roding marched down to confront her. The visitors, when they entered, looked thoroughly intimidated and Everett concealed a grim smile. But she was relentless. The next morning she went out with her post-office savings bank-book, and telegraphed for a warrant to draw out all the money she had in the world.
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