“It is your sister and her husband,” he said. “Look here,” he cried out of a silence, with a sudden flash of understanding, “did you mean to throw me over when you came out with me this afternoon?” Ann Veronica hesitated, and with a startled mind realized the truth. "What do you want?" he asked, in a gruff voice. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. With this person—who was no other than Mr. Anyhow, she’s disappeared for some reason or other. At any rate, he began to deliberately personate him. His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. Through one doorway she saw a grave Chinaman standing on a stage-like platform. Her teeth were chattering so hard that she had to clench them for fear of biting off her own tongue. Ann Veronica hazarded an opinion that as a matter of history some very beautiful people had, to a quite considerable extent, been bad, but Mr. I require nothing, you see, till my share of the contract is fulfilled.
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