Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. Her neck was smeared with red and remorse flooded him. “Come upstairs,” she said, “and I will show you your room. She pulled her hand away quickly. But he had shown no desire for information, no curiosity. But, bloodan'-'ouns! man, if ould Nick himself were to hit me a blow, I'd be afther givin' him another. These thoughts, however, came to a broken end. She had come to the end of her resources. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair.
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