As they neared the house, Jack Sheppard, who led the way, halted and addressed his companion in a low voice:— "I don't half like this job, Blueskin," he said; "it always went against the grain. You seemed to me to be slipping and slipping, and your face was white. ‘Wait! No time for that. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped.
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