‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. ’ ‘It is you who will get the head blown off,’ threatened the young lady fiercely. Her little white hand stole across the table. . But just now there is nothing which you or anybody can do. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window.
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