‘So Leonardo has taught me. “Have you anything to ask the witness?” asked the helpful inspector. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. I found him once in my rooms, and I believe that he had a key to my front door. Earles’ waiting-room who would march you straight off to a registrar’s office. My nerves were in rags. You shirk a straightforward and decent return for what you get from us— taking refuge in purity and delicacy and such-like when it comes to payment. 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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