CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Madame, Will You Talk?”
A
t
eight o’clock on the evening of July the second, Val Gyrth’s twenty-fifth birthday, Mr Campion languished in the room over the gateway of Mrs Shannon’s stable-yard. It was an effective prison. The windows were barred to prevent an entry rather than an exit, but they were equally efficient in either case. The two doors which led into other first storey rooms on either side were locked. Even had he desired to escape, the process would have been difficult.
The atmosphere was suffocating under the low penthouse roof, and his couch, which consisted of a blanket thrown over a heap of straw, was not altogether comfortable. Yet he was by no means disheartened. He had had frequent visitors during the day, but so far the one person he had come
