He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. ‘You wish to die?’ ‘Not in the least. You have been seen loitering with suspicious intent in several places—Paddington, for instance—and I have no doubt at all that you were party to a break-in last week at Remenham House in Kent. Oh, Jack! repent, while it is yet time, of your evil conduct. ‘My wife would say she is English a little. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared. We went our ways. “Dyed!” “And your figure?” “One’s corsetière arranges that.
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