Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. Jack, meanwhile, with Blueskin's assistance, had set the table once more upon its legs, and placing writing materials, which he took from a shelf, upon it, made Shotbolt, who was still gagged, but whose arms were for the moment unbound, sit down before them. I called myself Anna. The assemblage which was gathered together was almost countless. Montressor’s guests.
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