CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE SILVER TICKET
With a sudden instinct of protection, Spargo quickly drew the girl aside from the struggling crowd, and within a moment had led her into a quiet by-street. He looked down at her as she stood recovering her breath.
"Yes?" he said quietly.
Jessie Aylmore looked up at him, smiling faintly.
"I want to speak to you," she said. "I must speak to you."
"Yes," said Spargo. "But—the others? Your sisters—Breton?"
"I left them on purpose to speak to you," she answered. "They knew I did. I am well accustomed to looking after myself."
Spargo moved down the by-street, motioning his companion to move with him.
"Tea," he said, "is what you want. I know a queer, old-fashioned place close by here where you can get the best China tea in London. Come and have some."
Jessie Aylmore smiled and followed her guide obediently. And Spargo said nothing, marching stolidly along with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, his fingers playing soundless tunes outside, until he had in-
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