She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. There were too many kills, too many unsolved files in too many cabinets. ‘If, in truth, you are a gentleman,’ she said in a trembling tone, ‘you will move to the side that I may leave this room. “Well,” she said. “Please search everywhere,” she said. "Devilish nice ham you've got here!—capital pie!—and, as I live, a flask of excellent canary. ’ ‘Merci. Her scream shook the windows of the sedan.
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