But perhaps I had better get a room in an hotel to-night and look round. ” A little sobbing cry from Annabel arrested Sir John’s attention. "Humph!" exclaimed Jonathan, doubtfully. The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black mustache. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back.
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