But before he could say anything, the vehicle rolled to a halt. “It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. ‘You keep a-hold of him,’ Trodger ordered his men. How on earth does it concern you?” Annabel laughed hardly. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. "You've perjured yourself.
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