Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. Or appeared to do so. He was speechless. She marvelled at his apparent imperviousness to the heat. "Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. ‘Ah, bah, it is enough,’ she cried, and turning, ran out of the room. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. He was waiting in the outer hall as she tiptoed in. Which is the nearest way to the river?" "Why, it's an awkward road to direct you," returned Jonathan. "I am expected, I find," observed Jack, glancing at the well-covered board. For a moment her heart seemed to stop beating. It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind.
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