“Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. ‘Imbecile. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. I require nothing, you see, till my share of the contract is fulfilled. This was just what he needed. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. Entering the Red Room, he crept through the hole in the wall, descended the chimney, and arrived once more in his old place of captivity. Still, one never could tell.
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