” Lord, he was right! But softly now. He will tell you confidentially that he simply hates the place. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. We just want to ask her a few questions about an old murder case. . ’ He paused, but Melusine caught the inference.
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