"If I thought he lived——" observed Wood. I’m not such a bad sort. He thrust out a rhetorical hand. To surrender himself to the law, to face trial and imprisonment, was out of the question. Neither the American Express nor Cook's had received mail for Howard Taber; he was not on either list. I suppose an intelligent person OUGHT to be interested in political affairs. 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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