“You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. ” “You did not notice anything which may have escaped this lady? You saw no one leave the flats?” “No one,” Brendon answered. ” He was arrested for a moment by an indistinct picture of Veronica reading this last sentence. "I must tell you," she was saying. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. And such skirts as Ann Veronica had had when she entered the valley of Saas were safely packed away in the hotel, and she wore a leather belt and loose knickerbockers and puttees—a costume that suited the fine, long lines of her limbs far better than any feminine walking-dress could do. Sated, he rolled off her body and retired to his quarters.
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