" "To-morrow will be too late," said Sheppard, moodily. 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. \" Michelle drifted into a reverie. Melusine recognised the burly form of Captain Roding’s sergeant. ’ ‘Your plan, then. "Why, so it is," she said, in mock astonishment.
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