‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. “Hotel Ritz!” Chapter XXXI ANNA’S TEA PARTY “I suppose you haven’t the least idea who I am,” Lady Lescelles said, as she settled herself in Anna’s most comfortable chair. “A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?” “Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very egotistical. Of Jack Sheppard or the assailants they could not discover a single trace. Sir John was not used to such glances, and he liked them. The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. He guided himself between her legs. In spite of all this, he grew daily better and stronger, and his spirits revived. “Will you come round to the hospital?” he asked. Those were great tricks that you pulled with the car and the glass, but why shouldn’t I believe that this has all been an elaborate hoax?” He asked.
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