‘Ain’t no call for you to go a-blaming of yourself. Her pulses began to race. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. 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. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. Ann Veronica pushed aside a tea-cup and the vestiges of her strawberries and cream, and put her elbows before her on the table. ” Her heart leaped within her as she caught that phrase. The screams of the unfortunate woman had aroused Thames from his slumbers. “There ought to be some means of getting at him,” he said.
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