She said it to gain time, in the hope that the policeman would relax his hold, so that she might run away. But though he took her suggestion, he gave her no chance of escaping. "Beg pardon, sir, did you witness this young lady step off the pavement sudden-like in front of that there lorry?" he inquired. The pedestrian, thus addressed, came to a stop. Maggy stared at him. The street lamp at the corner was behind him. But while she stared a motor car slipped past, the beam of its headlights full on his face, and she caught her breath as their eyes met—hers and Chalfont’s. He was clearly too astonished to speak. "He—the constable—thinks I was going to commit suicide, I believe," said Maggy, conjuring up a laugh that made Chalfont shiver. "It’s fortunate you came along, Lord Chalfont. Please assure him I’m much too level-headed to do anything like that. I—I’m on my way home." No part of her statement convinced him, but he took care that neither she nor the policeman should see that. "So am I," he said in the most ordinary tone. "This lady is a friend of mine, constable. Here’s my card. You’ve erred a little on the side of discretion, but that’s excusable considering how dark it is. I’ll see her home myself. Good morning." The policeman looked at the card and then touched his hat. "Very well, m’lord. I apologize to the young lady for the mistake. At this hour of the night if we’re not very careful—" "That’s all right," said Chalfont. He took Maggy’s arm, holding it almost as tightly as the policeman had done, and walked her on in the direction of the Marble Arch. "Thank you," she said in a subdued tone when they had gone a dozen paces. "Now I can manage to—to go on by myself." "I don’t think so," he rejoined sternly. "What are you doing, wandering about at this time of night?" "I—I might as well ask you the same question." "I can answer it. I have just left a friend’s house—a late affair—fortunately for you." "Why fortunately for me?" she asked, trying to assume an air of innocent resentment. "You’re making too much fuss about a mistake in crossing the street." He stopped, still holding her, compelling her to look at him. "Maggy, are you going to tell me lies?" "No," she choked, lowering her head. "Then—" Chalfont did not proceed with what he was about to say. A taxi was passing and he hailed it. "I’ll take you to your flat," he said. "No, not there! I’m never going there again!" she cried, drawing back. That she had some potent reason for that decision was evident to him. He did not ask her what it was. He guessed it. "In that case," he said, "you must come to my house. I’m not going to leave you."