Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. The owner of this dress had a broad weather-beaten face, small twinkling eyes, and a bushy, grizzled beard. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. “Well?” she said. The whole affair interested him deeply. She screamed as she saw that their throats had been ripped out and their dead eyes bulged with horror as their heads lolled from mere strings of sinew and flesh.
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