i "It can and has. And it was pressed in to the head, remember."
She shuddered. "Thank heaven I didn't use it; Poor Vicky!"
He pressed the hand on his arm. "I didn't even notice," she said, "that the pin was— rusty."
"It wasn't rusty." He recalled the picture. "I remember how it shone when the light touched it. But then this germ's in the air, in dust; it comes from dust. From anything."
Again she shuddered. A light sprang up in the long windows of the front bedroom across the hall from Vicky's. A long shadow, that of Hubert Fane, crossed and recrossed the windows, beating its hands together. From the house they heard no noise or voice.
"Look here," Courtney said sharply. "You're worrying yourself to death. You can't do any good out here, just watching a closed window. Go in and sit down. H.M. will tell us when there's any news."
"You-you think I'd better?"
"Definitely."
"The trouble is," she burst out, "that Vicky's such a decent person. Always trying to do the right thing, always putting herself out for someone else. It just seems as though there's been nothing but trouble, trouble, trouble for her ever since two nights ago, when we first saw…"
The front gate clicked.