"Two words only," Hill repeated.

They all left the room. Anna leaned over so that he needed only to whisper.

"Tell your sister she was right to shoot, quite right. I meant mischief. But tell her this, too. I believed that our marriage was genuine. I believed that she was my wife, or she would have been safe from me."

"I will tell her," Anna promised.

"She has nothing to be afraid of," he continued. "I have signed a statement that I shot myself; bad trade and drink, both true--both true."

His eyes were closed. Anna left the room on tiptoe. She and Courtlaw drove homewards together.

_Chapter x.x.x_

SIR JOHN'S NECKTIE

Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who was enjoying himself. He seemed years younger, and the arrangement of his tie and hair were almost rakish. He stamped his last letter as Annabel entered.

She was dressed for the street very much as her own maid was accustomed to dress, and there was a thick veil attached to her hat.

"John," she declared, "I must eat or die. Do get your hat, and we will go to that corner cafe."

"Right," he answered. "I know the place you mean--very good cooking for such an out-of-the-way show. I'll be ready in a moment."

Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-gla.s.s.

"I really do not believe," he announced with satisfaction, "that any one would recognize me. What do you think, Annabel?"

"I don't think they would," she admitted. "You seem to have cultivated quite a jaunty appearance, and you certainly look years younger. One would think that you enjoyed crawling away out of your world into hiding, with a very foolish wicked wife."

"Upon my word," he declared, "you are right. I really am enjoying it.

It is like a second honeymoon. If it wasn't for the fear that after all--but we won't think of that. I don't believe any one could have traced us here. You see, we travelled second cla.s.s, and we are in the least known quarter of Paris. To-night we leave for Ma.r.s.eilles. On Thursday we embark for South America."

"You are a marvellous courier," she declared, as they pa.s.sed into the street. "You see, I will take your arm. It looks so French to be affectionate."

"There are some French customs," he declared, "which are admirable. I presume that I may not kiss you in the street?"

"Certainly not, sir," she replied, laughing. "If you attempted such a thing it would be in order that I should smack you hard with the palm of my hand upon the cheek."

"That is another French custom," he remarked, "which is not so agreeable. Here we are. Shall we sit outside and drink a _pet.i.t verre_ of something to give us an appet.i.te while dinner is being prepared?"

"Certainly not," she answered. "I am already so hungry that I shall begin on the _pet.i.t pains_. I have an appet.i.te which I dare not increase."

They entered the place, a pleasant little cafe of the sort to be met with in the outlying parts of Paris. Most of the tables were for those who smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread with tablecloths and laid for dinner. Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter.

"Monsieur would dine! It was very good! And Madame, of course?" with a low bow. The _carte de jour_ was before Monsieur. He had but to give his orders. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking--well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. And always they were well satisfied. He waited the pleasure of Monsieur.

Sir John gave his order, deliberately stumbling now and then over a word, and anglicizing others. When he had finished he took up the wine list and ordered a bottle of dry champagne.

"I am afraid," he said to Anna afterwards, "that it was a mistake to order the champagne sec. They will guess that I am English."

Annabel leaned back in her chair and laughed till the tears stood in her eyes.

"Did you--did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?" she exclaimed.

"I don't see why not," he answered. "These clothes are French, and I'm sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow. Perhaps I ought to have let you order the dinner, but I think I got through it pretty well."

"You did," Anna exclaimed. "Thank Heaven, they are bringing the _hors d'oeuvres_. John, I shall eat that whole tin of sardines. Do take them away from me after I have had four."

"After all," Sir John remarked complacently, "it is astonishing how easy it is for people with brains and a little knowledge of the world to completely hide themselves. I am absolutely certain that up to the present we have escaped all notice, and I do not believe that any casual observer would take us for English people."

A man who had been sitting with his hat tilted over his eyes at an adjacent table had risen to his feet and stood suddenly before them.

"Permit me to offer you the English paper which has just arrived, Sir John," he said, holding out a _Daily Telegraph_. "You may find in it a paragraph of some interest to you."

Sir John was speechless. It was Annabel who caught at the paper.

"You--appear to know my name, sir," Sir John said.

"Oh, yes," the stranger remarked good-humouredly. "I know you very well by sight, Sir John. It is my business to know most people. We were fellow pa.s.sengers from Charing Cross, and we have been fellow lodgers in the Rue d'Entrepot. I trust you will not accuse me of discourtesy if I express my pleasure that henceforth our ways will lie apart."

A little sobbing cry from Annabel arrested Sir John's attention. The stranger with a bow returned to his table.

"Read this, John."

"THE BUCKNALL MANSIONS MYSTERY.

"Montague Hill, the man who was found lying wounded in Bucknall Mansions late on Wednesday night in the rooms of a well-known artiste, has recovered sufficiently to make a statement to the police. It appears that he was an unsuccessful admirer of the lady in question, and he admits that, under the influence of drink, he broke into her rooms, and there made a determined attempt at suicide. He further gave the name and address of the firm from whom he purchased the revolver and cartridges, a member of which firm has since corroborated his statement.

"Hill's confession will finally refute a number of absurd stories which have been in circulation during the last few days. We understand that, notwithstanding the serious nature of the man's injuries, there is every possibility of his recovery."

Annabel pulled down her veil to hide the tears. Sir John filled his gla.s.s with trembling hand.

"Thank G.o.d," he exclaimed. "The fellow is not such a blackguard, after all."

Annabel's hand stole into his.

"And I have dragged you all over here for nothing," she murmured.

"For nothing, do you call it?" he declared. "I wouldn't have been without this trip for worlds. It has been a real honeymoon trip, Annabel, for I feel that it has given me a wife."

Annabel pulled up her veil.

"You are a dear," she exclaimed affectionately. "I do hope that I shall be able to make it up to you."