“You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that. John picked it up and put it in her hands. She stared at his pleading face. There was no need to be afraid for me. Glad to get back, I’m sure,” he said briskly. “Have either of you been out of this room since you discovered what had happened?” he asked. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. Annabel entered.
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