‘That’s why I never told Joan Ibstock that you were still with me when I wrote. From under his pillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk. ” “I think it is very good of me to come this afternoon. You must have repented a little, or you would not have done that. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. There was another little thing he had to say. He resumed his listening. Presently McClintock came in. ‘And she’s—’ She broke off, a sudden light in her eyes. There were three exit doors. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way.
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