” They passed a man who stared at them curiously. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. You know very well that you took from my easel David Courtlaw’s study of me, and sent it to Cariolus. What was the alternative to going home? No alternative appeared in that darkness. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. “I wish they did,” he said, “but they don’t. Try something. You can have no shecrets from me.
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