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“And how did you find us here?” “I called at Montague Street a few minutes after you had left. Which is C?” Ann Veronica, with a curious sinking of the heart, regarded the black cavities of the vans. The rear of the party was brought up by a large, powerfully-built man, with a bluff, honest, but rugged countenance, slashed with many a cut and scar, and stamped with that surly, sturdy, bull-dog-like look, which an Englishman always delights to contemplate, because he conceives it to be characteristic of his countrymen. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change.
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