Earles strode into the waiting-room. He made Hong-Kong at dusk: wet, hungry, and a bit groggy for the want of sleep; but he was in no wise discouraged. You will have lots of time on your hands. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. 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. ‘No, let me guess,’ he interrupted.
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