"Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully. "Relating to the father of the boy—Thames Darrell," supplied Jonathan. She had eaten little or no tea, and her mid-day meal had been worse than nothing. ” Anna hesitated no longer. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. Brown, Lucy, and Martin Chen were at the center of the joyous horde.
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