I admit it; that was the trouble with me.

When I left Fleetwood's rooms I left with a half dozen men.

I remember crossing Fifth Avenue with them; and the next thing I remember distinctly was loud talking in the club lobby, and a number of men there, and a slim young fellow in Inverness and top hat in the centre of a crowd, whose face was the face of that girl, Lydia Vyse.

And that is absolutely all.

But I couldn't do more than deny that I took her there unless I told what I knew; and of course that was not possible, even in self-defence.