CHAPTER TENGarth
Nordhall wrapped the head of Nonie tightly up in its newspapers and stood looking around the library. He said: “Don’t suppose the Clayborns want this souvenir, but neither do I.” He went over to a black-oak cabinet, opened it, and stuffed the parcel in on top of some old atlases. Then he came back, picked up his papers and the cardboard box, and said: “Let’s go.”
The big hall was empty, silent, and dimly lighted, the light filtering through coloured glass globes upheld by a bronze figure on the newel post. As Nordhall and Gamadge reached the foot of the stairs, a face with the reddish-purple glow of the lamps on it leaned over the balustrade just at the turn of the landing.
“Lieutenant Nordhall…”
“Yes?”
Garth Clayborn came farther down the flight, his hand on the rail
