‘Aha,’ grunted Gerald with satisfaction, squinting up at the two open shutters on the second floor. “He means nothing!” She whispered loudly. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. Ramage admitted the force of that.
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