Chapter 82

But Mrs. Carver preferred to listen on the stairs, while in Lance’s room Olive sat back on her heels and contemplated a grate and fender that were full of black and quaking ash. Her face had a malignant serenity. She supposed that she had done the job pretty completely. But had she? Might there not be another copy? She was up and searching, pulling out drawers, turning them out upon the floor, and exploring his empty suit-case and attaché cases. She found no other copy, for “Rust” was dead, a thing of smouldering a…