She laughed a little bitterly.
“I am under police surveillance,” she said. “So is Mr. Brendon.”
“But there is not a shadow of evidence against you,” he objected. “The man alone could supply any, and if he recovers sufficiently to say anything, what he would say would exonerate you.”
“Yes.”
There was a moment’s silence. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. He stepped quickly towards her. Her eyes seemed to be looking backwards. She distinctly shivered as he forced her to look at him. He was bewildered.
“Anna!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “Look at me. What is it? Good God!”
An unhappy little smile parted her lips. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire.
“I think,” she said, “that I will tell you everything. I must tell somebody—and you would understand.”
“I am your friend,” he said slowly, “whatever you may have to tell me. You can trust me, Anna. You know that. I will be as silent as the grave.”
“Not long ago,” she said, “you left me in anger, partly because of this exchange of identities between Annabel and myself. You said that it would bring trouble. It has.”