But you are Annabel. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. The south-east end of the island was hillocky, with volcanic subsoil.
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