She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. . There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. “Girls of sixteen do not need their own laundry hampers. I was—I was a corespondent. ’ It was thus in stony silence that the pair traversed the short distance to Stratton Street, where Roding knocked on the major’s door and entered a pleasant woodpanelled hall, with his prisoner firmly in tow.
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