Her eyes were lit with a gleam of humour. She bolted awake in the large bed which was awash in a sea of silks, furs, and red curtains. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am. She laughed a little bitterly. I’m convinced that much of Russell’s investigations are on wrong lines, unsound lines. “Take my advice,” he said hoarsely. They must have a key.
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