Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. This laugh and his looks alarmed her. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. "You are my prisoner, Jack. "Your health, Kneebone. “After all,” she said, “if this person will not be reasonable, I am afraid——” It was enough. ‘Silence,’ he warned again, with a prod of the dagger at her heart. Anyhow, she’s disappeared for some reason or other.
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