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The same night he met Meddoes and Drummond together, the latter over from Paris on a week’s leave from the Embassy. One has to train one’s self not to. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. While the carpenter irresolutely quitted the room, with a strong presentiment of ill upon his mind, a light quick step was heard descending the stairs, and before he could call out to prevent it, a man was admitted into the passage. "Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. "It would avail him little if he did," replied Kneebone. ” A little sobbing cry from Annabel arrested Sir John’s attention.
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