By this time the woman had fought her way through the press, bursting
the remaining buttons off her ulster in so doing, and reached the bar
which separated spectators from the space reserved for the officials.
On the further side of the bar was a gangway, and beyond it a table at
which Mr. Quest sat. He had been busy writing something all this time,
now he rose, passed it to Mr. de la Molle, and then turned to sit down
again.
Meanwhile his wife had craned her long lithe body forward over the bar
till her head was almost level with the hither edge of the table.
There she stood glaring at him, her wicked face alive with fury and
malice, for the brandy she had drunk had caused her to forget her
fears.
As Mr. Quest turned, his eye caught the flash of colour from the
peacock feather hat. Thence it travelled to the face beneath.
He gave a gasp, and the court seemed to whirl round him. The sword had
fallen indeed!
"Well, Billy!" whispered the hateful voice, "you see I've come to look
you up."
With a desperate effort he recovered himself. A policeman was standing
near. He beckoned to him, and told him to remove the woman, who was
drunk. The policeman advanced and touched her on the arm.
"Come, you be off," he said, "you're drunk."
At that moment Mr.
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