"Harkye, Sir," rejoined Darrell; "one word before I move. How came you, Sir," he continued, addressing Sheppard, "to venture upon that frame. Easy enough to look as if one rides away. There’s that old gentleman at the end of the table—Bullding his name is. “That sounds interesting. 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. ‘You do not understand, Gérard. "Can't!" repeated his mother.
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