Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. “You decline to help us in any way, then,” he said. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. Her heavy pistol came up again, although she did not rise. “Kick aht at ‘em!” though, indeed, she went now with Christian meekness, resenting only the thrusting policemen’s hands. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. I naturally want to do it up in proper style. She moaned as his hands explored her body, fingers crushing against her panties under her skirt. “Both.
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