It was perfectly legitimate. "How are you off there, Shoplatch?" inquired Kneebone. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. Abruptly the sterner look vanished and she twinkled. ‘I can’t do that. "I can escape to France. I am having them to my own soirée on Monday. . It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. The picture might easily apply to The Tigress: outwardly disreputable, but richly and comfortably appointed below. ‘So this is Pottiswick’s French spy. CHAPTER III.
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