She winked at him as he shut the door. 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. The figure she had longed to see came into her line of vision, but at this crucial moment of hideous realisation, Melusine barely took it in, her eyes fixing blankly on the man behind. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. I was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child—an innocent child. A queer nut. “You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him. "When I am dead you will learn it.
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