"' Instead of regarding him, Jack glanced over the iron bannisters, and measured the distance. ” “The good God!” Anna murmured, herself shaken with fear. They said no more for a moment, and each was now acutely aware of the other. “Not possible. ” Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. Her situation was perplexing her very much, and the Widgett atmosphere was lax and sympathetic, and provocative of discussion. It was time to get up. ‘I don’t think he deserved that, Melusine. . ” She looked at her toes. Jack's recapture was speedily made known to all the officers of the jail, and the Lodge was instantly crowded. .
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