When she entered the office a strange scene was presented to her startled gaze. It was obviously pitched well, hitting her head at a good thirtyfive miles per hour. Yet you can look Cheveney in the face and declare that you do not know him. I rarely set foot in London these days. She hesitated about her name, and, being prompted, gave it at last as Ann Veronica Smith, 107A, Chancery Lane. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. I think I know where I am puzzling you now——” “Then for Heaven’s sake be merciful,” he exclaimed. But behind these things which you have said to me there must be others of which I know nothing.
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