One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. Give me but leave to try. I should have thought my note cleared up everything. What have you got to say?" "Too much," replied Kneebone, shaking his head; "sadly too much. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change. 47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that. He stopped in mid-sentence, and Ann Veronica opened the door for her aunt. " "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same.
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