“But then I should have to come out on to the corridor. I hate corridors.”
“No. My bedroom opens into yours. Your door that opens into the passage is locked at night.”
“By whom?”
“By me.”
“Why do you lock it?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. You are safer with it locked, I expect.”
“How long have you lived here, Mariana?”
“Three years this autumn.”
“And how long has Mr. Barringcourt been here?”
“The same length of time. I came with him.”