All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. Her first impulse was to fly to the window; and she was about to pass through it, at the risk of sharing the fate of the unfortunate lady, when her arm was grasped by some one in the act of ascending the ladder from without. What the editor had to say none of the three cared just then. As she neared the bottom of the dip in Piccadilly she saw a woman approaching her from the opposite direction—a tall woman who at the first glance seemed altogether beautiful and fine. Old Bedlam. They could not have called it a fatal motor accident if he had not been dead.
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