FORTY-TWO
I must have been the only one to hear the sound of the lock; nobody reacted, and Chessie wandered away down the corridor and returned in a few minutes with Quincey.
Quincey looked pale and tired, but otherwise no worse for having had a nearly dangerous amount of blood siphoned out of him. But then, we all looked pale and tired. I felt a little ill, too, and my face probably showed it.
Quincey didn’t look ill. He looked simultaneously helpless and furious, his brow beetled, eyes darting wildly in their sockets and bugging out just a bit, his right hand clenching and unclenching by his side. Chessie must have told him.
He accelerated toward the door like a human battering ram, but Aunt Kitty’s hand found his arm and restrained him with a light touch.
‘Mr Apostol’s in there,’ s
