Wood; but they never come now. ’ ‘Dear me. “Your best route will be via Boulogne and Folkestone at nine o’clock from the Gare du Nord. “But it makes me feel inhuman,” he added. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street. “I shall probably want you to come down to the ‘Unusual’ to-morrow morning,” he said. Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat.
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