Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. “A claim,” he continued, “which I am quite prepared to recognize. Is it so, Annabel?” “I did not know,” she faltered, “anything about you. From the freshness of the stains, which grew more frequent as they approached the adjoining chamber, it was evident some violence had been recently perpetrated, and the carpenter's own blood froze within his veins as he thought, with a thrill of horror, that, perhaps on this very spot, not many minutes before his arrival, his adopted son might have been inhumanly butchered. All at once she realised that Kimble had halted, leaning heavily against the wall. It is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures. "There's only one way out of the muddle, that I can see. Then I assumed a rather portentous manner to prepare him. Can you come?\" Michelle asked expectantly. What had shifted his casual interest was the visible prospect of a party of three who were coming down the packet gangplank. ‘Damnation! Too late.
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