“He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. " "God help me, what a muddle!" The cigar crumbled in Spurlock's hand. “What made you marry him? What made you leave Paris without a word to any one? What made you and your sister exchange identities?” “There is one answer to all those questions, Nigel,” she said, with a nervous little shudder. "That man should have been an Italian bravo," murmured the knight, sinking into a chair: "he has neither fear nor compunction. ‘Oh, peste. Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror.
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