“Number 13, please, cabman. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. She attacked me with a carving-knife, and, when I had disarmed her, the jade bit off a couple of fingers from my left hand. My only excuse is that I missed my way here, and I am leaving Paris early to-morrow morning. They don’t now. “About my sister,” she repeated slowly. That’s the fact about them. “Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. First-off, he had decided not to tell her what he had found at the bottom of that manila envelope.
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