‘I do not steal,’ declared the lady hotly. Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. She could not say who, not yet. A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his face decided, and yet for all that it had the significance of a countenance hewn out of rock. At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat. There was a round table covered, not with the usual “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the wall-paper. And, incidentally, check on that unfortunate young fellow Kimble. You see—I didn’t understand. “I might go home, I don’t know.
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