He had not to wait long. “It’s just that he doesn’t seem like your type. As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. Diane did not hear the footsteps on her brick patio or the audible click of the back door lock being compromised. Amid a litter of nails without heads, screws without worms, and locks without wards, lay a glue-pot and an oilstone, two articles which their owner was wont to term "his right hand and his left. It gave her joy to see them laughing, even though she was unsure of what she had done wrong.
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