Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. . “But where are you going? Lucy, you’re safe here. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. Too late now. Lucy heard a stir, but if Dawn Plote were to arise and come into the room, it could only mean two murders tonight. "Come along! We'll start that concert right away. I must stay a minute longer, if only to see you smile. Maybe others that I do not know about.
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