” “It is,” Annabel answered shortly. What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whisky and a friendly American bar-keep to talk to. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. Altogether, it was the most dreadful noise he had ever heard. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. Here you only waste your time.
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