“Who is the tenant of these rooms?” he inquired. All the party were greatly interested by Sheppard's history— especially Figg, who laughed loud and long at the escape from the Condemned Hold. How on earth does it concern you?” Annabel laughed hardly. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. “This isn’t furtive,” said Ann Veronica.
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