” Chapter XXVI ANNABEL IS WARNED “You!” David Courtlaw crossed the floor of the dingy little sitting-room with outstretched hands. With an open hand, he slapped her face. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. The Red Room. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. Your aunt liked the pheasant. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. He used to call it his fire-escape—ha! ha! I've often used the ladder for my own convenience, but I never expected to turn it to such good account.
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