Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. . He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. “I have brought you very nearly to my door. 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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