The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. I suspect he has been at work upon those he has on. ” She spoke with a certain asperity. ‘Jacques,’ she said, turning to the lad, and holding the habit out, ‘take this for me and leave it in the passage where we have left the lantern. " The detective ruefully inspected the scarlet band on his perfecto. .
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