Austin, or any man of similar dimensions, would have found wholly impossible. 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. “I have my methods. ’ She sighed. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun.
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