C. N. Williamson and A. M. Williamson

“ If she lost her head, she might show her hand!
“You'll have worse than hysterics, you fool, before I finish,” she flung back. “I'm going to make Roger Fane acknowledge me as his wife and give me all I want in life—money and motor cars and pearls and a position in society. I'm tired of being a free lance.”
“He won't do it!” I said.
“He'll have to, when he hears what will happen if he doesn't. If I can't live a life worth living, I'll die. Roger Fane will go off his yacht under arrest as my murderer.” ”

“ You can't do anything. I'll soon prove that! But I had a good look at you one night at your friend's old Devonshire rat trap. I knew who you both were. It was easy to find out! And the other day when I heard that Lady Shelagh Leigh was likely to marry Roger Fane, I said to myself, 'Gosh! One of the girls I saw at that darned old Abbey!'”
“Oh, you said that to yourself!” I echoed. And though my knees felt weak, I kept to my feet, because to stand towering above the shabby figure seemed to give me a moral as well as physical advantage. “How did you know, pray, which girl I was?” ”

“ That's ancient history. One must live and one must have money, plenty of money. I must! And I've had it. But it's gone from me, like most things. Now I must have more, a lot more, or else I must die. I don't care which. ”