John stared palely. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. There were groves of cultivated guava, orange, lemon, and pomegranate. He was well mounted, as was his companion; and had pistols in his holsters, and a hanger at his girdle. "Something more than whisky did that. But all of that was forgotten. I hope you will always remember——” Annabel held out her hands with a little cry of protest. ‘Is that a gesture of friendship?’ She stamped her foot. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers.
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