The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked outside; but this was only a moment's obstacle to Jack, who with a chisel forced back the bolt. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. ’ She bestowed a dazzling smile on Roding, who had reddened to the gills at these words.
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