He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. “Why?” He inquired. Bah! She does not know me very well, and you—not at all. . . Will you?” She thought, and it seemed to him she had never looked so self-disciplined and deliberate and beautiful. " "You have extradition papers?" "What sort of a detective do you think I am?" countered O'Higgins. A pity you did not think to tell me that part of the tale at the outset. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. An hour was then passed in conversation as to the possibility of rendering any assistance to Jack; in deploring his unhappy destiny; and in the consideration of the course to be pursued in reference to Jonathan Wild.
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