“A—marriage certificate!” Annabel gasped.
Anna glanced into her sister’s face, and rose to her feet.
“Let me get you some water, Annabel. Don’t be frightened, dear. Remember——”
Annabel clutched her sister’s arm. She would not let her move. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear.
“A thick-set, coarse-looking young man, Anna!” she exclaimed in a hoarse excited whisper. “He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands.”
Anna nodded.
“It is the same man, Annabel,” she said. “There is no doubt whatever about that. There was the motor accident, too. It is the same man, for he raved in the hospital, and they fetched me. It was you, of course, whom he wanted.”
“Alive! In London!” Annabel moaned.
“Yes. Pull yourself together, Annabel! I must have the truth.”