" "Thank'ee,—thank'ee. He was no Hoddy, but a tremendous man, with hairy arms and bearded face and drink-shattered intellect. "Here's one of the thieves, Sir Rowland!" cried the attendant. She still could not muster the strength to leave. 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.
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