Ann Veronica, after a last survey of the dinner appointments, followed him, rustling, came to his side by the high brass fender, and touched two or three ornaments on the mantel above the cheerful fireplace. She lived, he noted, very carelessly. The face of the man who lay there was clearly visible. ‘No, let me guess,’ he interrupted. ‘Well said, my dear. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. Wonderful! The water, dripping from you, must have looked like pearls. ” “If he has a key,” Ennison said, “how are you to be safe?” “I had bolts fitted on the doors yesterday,” she answered. “What are you doing here? How dare you come to my rooms!” The man stepped into the middle of the room. Her eyebrows were lifted in expostulation. The reward is mine. "This alters the case materially.
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