You shall know the truth. Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel’s visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. " "You have extradition papers?" "What sort of a detective do you think I am?" countered O'Higgins.
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