“Of course I mean, who was she?” “I believe that her name was Pellissier,” Ennison answered. "In wine there is truth. To go to him, to console him! But she stirred not from her hiding place. Wood trembled. You, sir,” he added, turning to Brendon, “had better take my card round to the police station in Werner Street and ask that Detective Dorling be sent round here at once on urgent business. Perhaps she would have to charge this man and appear in a police-court next day. She wished she had not stood up. But I can tell you who'll have the pleasure of hanging your father's son; and that's a person not a hundred miles distant from you at this moment—ha! ha!" As he said this, the door was opened, and Charcam entered, accompanied by a dwarfish, shabby-looking man, in a brown serge frock, with coarse Jewish features, and a long red beard. And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature. “Look here, Ann Veronica,” he began.
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