She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. When he returned, a moment or so afterwards, he found Sir Rowland standing by the lifeless body of his sister. Don’t take my word for it though. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. ” “All right! And I never dreamed anything of the sort was going on. Forgive me. The kissing of the book struck her as particularly odd, and then the policemen gave their evidence in staccato jerks and stereotyped phrases. The boy was coming around.
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