Martin came to the door, looking radiant and relieved. Too busy. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. ‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon. Beyond the hatch, an angle, formed by a projection in the wall of some three or four feet, served to hide a door conducting to the interior of the prison. “Your arrival is really most opportune. ‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me. Spurlock (himself verging upon the hysterical) welcomed the diversion.
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