Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. “I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. Kneebone. “Come right in,” he hissed under his breath, with the true conspirator’s note, closed the door very softly and pointed, “Through there!” By the meagre light of a gas lamp she perceived a cobbled yard with four large furniture vans standing with horses and lamps alight. At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered.
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