The woollen-draper looked at his watch. Wild," said Sheppard. "I shall want a bottle or two of sack, and a flask of usquebaugh. 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. Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her face resumed its expression of stern preoccupation. What a pity! But why? There was no way over this puzzle, nor under it, nor around it: that men should drink, knowing the inevitable payment. He decided that Hoddy should pay a colossal price for the Dawn Pearl—shame, loneliness, torment, for only through these agencies would he learn your worth. Pull yourself together, Annabel! I must have the truth.
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