She moved her elbow nearer to him and spoke in a still lower tone. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. “Your name and address were upon an envelope found in the pocket of an Englishman who was brought here late last night suffering from serious injuries,” he said in a dry official tone. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Will you marry me?” Anna looked at him in blank amazement. ‘Have no fear,’ he uttered soothingly, reaching out to pat her free hand. The crash was tremendous. His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another.
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