” Annabel laughed softly. He wore a silk hat a little tilted, and a morning coat buttoned round a tight, contained figure; and a white slip gave a finish to his costume and endorsed the quiet distinction of his tie. ” “Sir John is an ass!” he declared. I thought that Hill was dead, but I was frightened, and I wanted to get away from Paris. Chapter VIII “WHITE’S” Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days. Here he found another strong door, making the fifth he had encountered.
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