CHAPTER XXVI Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtain rattle behind him. “Your name and address were upon an envelope found in the pocket of an Englishman who was brought here late last night suffering from serious injuries,” he said in a dry official tone. Folding his arms, he placed his back against the door, and burst into a loud laugh. “La belle ‘Alcide,’ wasn’t it? Annabel Pellissier was her real name. Do you know, I am beginning to believe that we only exist nowadays by the tolerance of these millionaire tradesmen. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. Every one of those four stories would be accepted. “Wonderful man!” said Ann Veronica, reassured, and stroking his cheek with her finger.
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