She tried to be casual. Opening the trap-door, he then descended to the vaults —searched each cell, and every nook and corner separately. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. Terror had laid a paralyzing hand upon her, fear kept her almost unconscious of the curious glances which she was continually attracting. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. "Rather cramped, eh?" "Rather so, Sir," replied the other, altering his position. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness.
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