“I remember hearing something about it. "Oh! they are—are they?" muttered Jack, triumphantly; "that'll do. 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. The boy was all conscience, and he suffered through this conscience to such lengths that the law would be impotent to add anything. It was among artistic people. “Have you anything to ask the witness?” asked the helpful inspector. There was a certain air of forced fortuity in his manner.
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