Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. "Nothing whatever," rejoined the thief-taker, coldly. “And even then—” The conversation hung for a thoughtful moment. That old chap has a remarkable range in reading. With his black and gray hair, his gray-green eyes were a striking contrast and he looked even younger, as if he had been frozen at age thirty-three. "You were no doubt surprised by the unlooked-for intelligence I sent you of your nephew's return?" "Was it unlooked-for on your part?" demanded the knight, distrustfully. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. " "Make good your assertions," cried Trenchard, furiously, "or——" "To the proof," interrupted the stranger, calmly. I can’t afford to get behind. Hell's curses! that after all my precautions I should be thus entrapped. Mother had met with him two years before to begin the process of finding a match. Get pen and paper for the missie. She had even tried a needle and a catheter on a victim once, but had found that the process was so frustrating and slow that she barely gained any sustenance and had done the worst thing imaginable: wasted a kill.
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