Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. Old pupil. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. "I will administer it. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. ‘What you can do, Lucy, rather than make enquiries, is introduce me to this comte and comtesse. All the same, I wish I had that fellow by the throat! Just the virile, unregenerate man in me wishes that. Why do women take to lies and deceit and trickery as naturally as a duck to water?” “You are not alluding, I hope, to Miss Pellissier?” Ennison said stiffly.
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