‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. ” “I had some unexpected business,” Courtlaw answered shortly. "Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. Come. 'Sdeath! what can I have done with it? Oh! here it is," cried Hogarth, picking it from the ground. A sense of impending disaster was upon him. She had eaten little or no tea, and her mid-day meal had been worse than nothing. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address.
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