He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. The detective rapidly sketched the appearance of the room in his notebook, and picked up the pistol from under the table. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. . . . ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. You are my prisoner, murderer. ” “Don’t let there be any more. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. That is very bad, certainly, and for this he was extremely sorry. She became exceptionally considerate and affectionate with her father and aunt, and more and more concerned about the coming catastrophe that she was about to precipitate upon them. "See how glad he is!" His irony and displeasure subsided.
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