"Yes."
"Annabel's real reason for wishing to leave Paris, the real reason she
married Sir John Ferringhall, was because of a very foolish thing
which she did. It was--in connection with this man Hill. He personated
over there a millionaire named Meysey Hill, and it seems that he
induced Annabel to go through some sort of marriage with him at the
Embassy."
"Where?" Courtlaw asked quickly.
"In Paris."
Courtlaw seemed about to say something. He changed his mind however,
and simply motioned to her to proceed.
"Then there was a motor accident only an hour or so after this
ceremony, and Hill was reported to be killed. Annabel believed it,
came to England and married Sir John. Now you can understand why I
have been obliged to----"
"Yes, yes, I understand that," Courtlaw interrupted. "But about last
night."
"Annabel knew where I lived," Anna continued slowly. "She has been to
my flat before. I saw her come out from the flat buildings two minutes
before we entered it last night. I picked up her handkerchief on the
floor."
"You mean--you think----"
"Hush! I think that he was concealed in my room, and Annabel and he
met there. What passed between them I cannot think--I dare not. The
pistol was his own, it is true, but it was one which was taken from
him when he forced his way in upon me before. Now you can understand
why every minute is a torture to me. It is not for myself I fear. But
if he speaks--I fear what he may tell."
"You have been to her?" he asked.
"I dare not," she answered.
"I will go," he said. "She must be warned. She had better escape if
she can."
Anna shook her head.
"She will take her risk," she answered. "I am sure of it. If he
recovers he may not accuse her. If he dies she is safe."
He paced the room for a minute or two restlessly.
"There are some people," he said at last, "who seem fated to carry on
their shoulders the burdens of other people. You, Anna, are one of
them. I know in Paris you pinched and scraped that your sister might
have the dresses and entertainments she desired. You fell in at once
with her quixotic and damnable scheme of foisting her reputation and
her follies upon your shoulders whilst she marries a rich man and
commences all over again a life of selfish pleasure. You on the other
hand have to come to London, a worker, with the responsibility of life
upon your own shoulders--and in addition all the burden of her
follies."
"You forget," she said, looking up at him with a faint smile, "that
under the cloak of her name I am earning more money a week than I
could ever have earned in a year by my own labours."