Kneebone, who began to feel sleepy, wound it up, and snuffed the candles. “What has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend. And for Suzanne and the vicomte, I am nothing. Immediately he grasped the fact that there was drama here, probably the old drama of the fugitive. It was Annabel’s. She put her head out of the window. There is the election——” He laughed derisively. “Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. Before he could recover from the stunning effects of the blow, Wood possessed himself of the child: and, untying the noose which had been slipped round its throat, had the satisfaction of hearing it cry lustily.
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