CHAPTER XIV. MR. BEALE SUGGESTS MARRIAGE
"Held up by a gunman?" asked James Kitson incredulously, "why, what do you mean?"
"It doesn't sound right, does it?" smiled Beale, "especially after McNorton telling us the other day that there was no such thing as a gunman in England. Do you remember his long dissertation on the law-abiding criminals of this little old country?" he laughed.
"But a gunman," protested Mr. Kitson—"by the way, have you had breakfast?"
"Hours ago," replied Beale, "but don't let me interrupt you."
Mr. James Kitson pulled his chair to the table and unfolded his napkin. It was almost at this hour that Oliva Cresswell had performed a similar act.
"You are not interrupting me," said Kitson, "go on."
Beale was frowning down at deserted Piccadilly which Mr. Kitson's p
