"Your business, Sir?" returned the other, stiffly. Having heard from Thames that you were better, and that your sole anxiety was about me, I came to give you the first intelligence of my escape. ” Courtlaw’s walking stick, which he had been handling, fell with a crash to the ground. He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes. “Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly. It was less will than education. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray.
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