She threw him his car keys. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. And in the Avenue she had an encounter with Ramage. Opening her large black eyes, she fixed them upon him for a moment with a mixture of terror and loathing, and then averted her gaze. What might it have been?’ Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. That Frenchie, that’s who she is. “Annabel,” she said brusquely. Once in, the constable's manner appeared totally changed. Well, well; all he himself could do would be to watch this singular drama unroll.
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