Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good. She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. She directed the little old woman and then made her way to van D. Some doting parent had taught him well. I stole away and walked to the railway station. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. Where the devil have you hidden all those weapons? Don’t tell me you’ve got ’em with you. "These writer chaps are queer birds. Furious shouting, and the thunder of running feet.
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