"His disguise was capital; but I detected it in a moment. “Okay. This getting up at dawn—real dawn—and working until seven was a distinct novelty. We met dissecting dogfish. Marvel held her handkerchief to her eyes, and appeared in great distress. 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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