He continued to do this for the rest of the evening intermittently, in and out, among other topics. 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 was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. The lights rolled over, and were extinguished. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. He looked about for his hat, and put it on. ‘I do not command your services, mon major. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like,’ he repeated blankly. But next moment, Captain Roding put up her back.
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