‘Went to the dogs, did Jarvis, after Mary died. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. ’ ‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace. When she spoke, her lips twitched.
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