SHOWS MRS.

THESIGER IN HER HOME The Geneva express jerked itself out of the Gare de Lyons.

For a few minutes the lights of outer Paris twinkled past its windows and then with a spring it reached the open night.

The jolts and lurches merged into one regular purposeful throb, the shrieks of the wheels, the clatter of the coaches, into one continuous hum.

And already in the upper berth of her compartment Mrs.Thesiger was asleep.