"That man should have been an Italian bravo," murmured the knight, sinking into a chair: "he has neither fear nor compunction. He told me that he was a millionaire. While they were thus occupied, a maid-servant entered the room, and stated that a person was without who had a packet for Captain Darrell, which must be delivered into his own hands. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. I am a man—of a sort of experience. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book.
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