Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. The assemblage was for the most part, if not altogether, composed of persons to whom vice in all its aspects was too familiar to present much of novelty, in whatever form it was exhibited. I have suffered too much from your treachery. Say something. But I'll tell e'e what we might do——" The young man heard no more. ‘I understand you have not been in England very long,’ he said in English, noting that Madame raised her fan and lowered her gaze demurely. They had turned into the street, on the opposite side of which were the flats where Anna lived. He loaded the launch with a thousand pounds—all she could carry—and started home immediately after sundown; but even then he lost from a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds before he had the stuff cached in McClintock's bamboo-covered sawdust pit. She looked at Lucy guiltily, wondering if she would be betrayed. "It's the boy's death-warrant," observed Jonathan, with a sinister smile. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand.
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