While the watermen were contending with the eddies occasioned by the fall below the bridge, Jonathan observed a perceptible shudder run through Trenchard's frame. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. I've an idea it'll be that long before the chap gets up. Some of the hotel guests can act as witnesses. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. "After him," cried Wild; "he mustn't escape. You ought to have had better advice two years ago. Ann Veronica halted a pace, and Miss Klegg came alongside.
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