The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. While he was thus employed, his nerves underwent a severe shock. “When did you look up my mother’s records at the Joliet library, Michelle?” Lucy asked, trying not to incriminate herself by sounding confrontational. She turned off the light and approached the window. It was so hopeless to put it to them. A short flight of steps brought him to a dark passage, into which he plunged. “Have to take your turn,” he remarked laconically. For he come after her, did Mr Charvill. In any case, he is liable to discover it at any time.
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