God must love me, for he has guided me here. 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. If it is that you need these things, then of course we will go there. “I will put the question,” Drummond said gravely. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street. He waited the pleasure of Monsieur.
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