“No. Sheppard, faintly. ” “I told them a lie. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. Anna, I listened to all that he had to say, and I called to him to let me get out. She had not at first the power for concealment. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag. “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. Home!— which I never hoped to see again. ‘But you are idiot. I know nothing about the girl, save what you have told me. I believe he’s divorced.
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