He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. 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. Probably he will come around to-morrow and begin all over again. ” “But he recognized you,” the official objected. He was caressing an idea. “Ungracious little beast, I call her. When I realized that she was a liar and a mean bitch I broke it off with her for good.
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