“You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. E. Chapter VIII “WHITE’S” Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days. Impressed with this idea, he paused for a moment to listen. “How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. Drummond was telling me about the way old Ferringhall rounded upon them all at the club. This horrible piece of deformity, who acted as drawer and cellarman, and was a constant butt to the small wits of the jail, was nicknamed the Black Dog of Newgate. ’ ‘Yes, but I’m hanged if I see what your game is.
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