“Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. One nail drives out another, it's true; but the worst nail you can employ is a coffin-nail. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders. Andrew's, the churchyard wall of St.
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