He got off on it. Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. On the way, he hired a chair with a couple of stout porters, and ordered them to follow him. ‘To me, quickly!’ There was a brief hush, and then the shouts resumed and several pairs of feet clattered towards her from, as it seemed, several directions. She disengaged her hands and stood up. “If you speak—farewell. He just walked in a few minutes ago. He was only a younger son, and you know what trouble we had. ” Lucy looked at the small shelf which was jammed with thick paperbacks by every major horror novelist of the twentieth century.
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