He would never be able to compose upon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work. I know you. He laughed reassuringly. And I have no more the pistol. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. The massive door was unlocked, and they entered the cell. She hesitated about her name, and, being prompted, gave it at last as Ann Veronica Smith, 107A, Chancery Lane. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie. McClintock did not exaggerate his ability to read faces.
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