Period trying desperately to cover her nudity with a dingy hand towel she had found lying on the floor in a corner. She knew very well that a new thing was stirring in her. The annihilation of the Terror which fascinated her and troubled her dreams o' nights. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. He caught the elderly dame’s eye, throwing her a desperate message. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. ’ ‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace.
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