text: CHAPTER XII 
  
  "Throw your coat down anywhere, Miss Baldwin," Wingate invited, as he ushered that young lady into his rooms soon after eleven o'clock on the following evening. "Now what can I give you? There are some sandwiches here--ham and pâté-de-foie-gras, I think. Whisky and soda or some hock?" 
  
  "A pâté sandwich and some plain soda water, please," Sarah replied, taking off the long motoring coat which concealed her evening clothes. "I have been fined for everything except disorderly driving--daren't risk that. Thanks!" she went on. "What ripping sandwiches! And quite a good play, wasn't it?" 
  
  "I am glad you enjoyed it." 
  
  "It was a swindle Josephine not turning up," Sarah continued, as she stretched herself out in Wingate's easy-chair. "Domestic ructions again, I suppose. How I do hate that husband of hers!" 
  
  "It was disappointing," he admitted. 
  
  There was a brief pause, during which Sarah finished her sandwiches and lit a cigarette. 
  
  "Wilshaw seems to be having a little trouble with the outside porter," her host remarked presently. 
  
  "It must cost him at least half a sovereign every time I leave the cab," Sarah sighed. 
  
  "How much do you make a week out of your driving, if it isn't too personal a question?" he enquired. 
  
  "It depends upon how much Jimmy's got." 
  
  "Is he your only client, then?" 
  
  "He very seldom gives me a chance of another. Once or twice I've refused to be engaged by the day, but he sends his man around to the garage and I find him sitting in the cab when I arrive." 