” Chapter XXV THE STEEL EDGE OF THE TRUTH The manservant, with his plain black clothes and black tie, had entered the room with a deferential little gesture. ’ ‘You’re going to break into the house? You’re mad. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. ’ ‘Yes,’ she agreed, but her manner was a degree less warm. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested.
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