After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. She had lost it. They negotiated several steps, and then the stair turned a corner. “You are talking like a boy. Dashing through the open door, he crossed the Old Bailey, plunged into a narrow court on the opposite side of the way, and was out of sight in a minute, baffling all pursuit. He had sold half a dozen short tales to thirdrate magazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguished editorial room, of international reputation. Wood caught hold of Jack's leg, and dragged him off the bench. .
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