Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. That had taken her by surprise, and her tired wits had failed her. He proceeded to the deck, where Ruth and McClintock were waiting for him by the ladder. I’ll pay it. He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out.
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