" "Knock him on the head," thundered Sir Cecil, "or we shall have the watch upon us. 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. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. He was never known to err, and was as much dreaded as the jailfever in consequence. You may command my services at any time.
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