‘Pray you, mademoiselle, can you not—’ ‘No use trying to enlist Lucilla’s aid,’ snapped Roding. Annabel seated herself in an easy chair and determined to wait for her sister’s return. CHAPTER VIII. " "Help me, Jack!" shouted Thames, "or I shan't be able to keep the villain down. If nothing else had clinched that, the purse had. Wood, with a message for Lady Trafford. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. “Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling.
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