"My heart," rejoined Thames, firmly; "which now tells me I am in the presence of his murderer. 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. ‘What, is Nicholas dead?’ He saw the two of them exchange glances and an instinct of danger rose up.
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