It was not the arrival of the guests, but merely the maid moving about in the hall. Solomon Smith seemed to be Mr. He it was who formed the grand design of a robber corporation, of which he should be the sole head and director, with the right of delivering those who concealed their booty, or refused to share it with him, to the gallows. I am not a madman, or a pauper, or even an unreasonable person. A moment before he had been a strong man, she had been in his power, a poor helpless thing. 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.
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