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After Capes had finished the Scotchman’s troubles he went back into the preparation-room. “The Annabel who lives here, who sings every night at the ‘Unusual’? They call her by your old name. “Who from?” She met his eye for a second and her heart failed her. You are afraid of kisses. Then she shrugged. She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. ‘I knew I should find you still here.
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