Chapter Twenty One
The Questing Hands
After the cramped claustrophobia of the produce-van and the, no doubt, even more disturbing nature, of our private thoughts, a more peaceful scene than the hectares of flower-planted land to the south of the metropolis would have been difficult to imagine for either myself or Bernard.
But, either because of my knowledge that its peace was chimerical, or because of that outflung consciousness of danger which actually, or in my imagination, preceded the coming of the c******n’s agents, the silence throbbed electrically and the night was laden with dark omens.
Already cramped by my journey in the produce-van, I found it difficult to remain very long in any one position as my thoughts raged to-and-thro.
What information had Deschamps to sell? He had r
