I tell you what, Mr. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. ” She roused herself from some dream at the word. Grudgingly he admired her. He would have to sit down here in Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks. “It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna. 82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. Feeling rather exhausted, it occurred to him that possibly some provisions might have been left by the constable; and, looking about, he perceived a pitcher of water and a small brown loaf on the floor. The couple reappeared from behind the curtains, both visibly shaken. Wild's figure. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered.
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