She crushed the letter in her hand. Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity. Capes went first, finding footholds and, where the drops in the strataedges came like long, awkward steps, placing Ann Veronica’s feet. ’ A panel slid open and she stepped into the relative light of the little dressingroom, Kimble close behind her. A neat tale, giving little away. A small voice greeted her, hissing. "Let us in," said the Master, rapping his truncheon authoritatively against the boards, "or we'll force an entrance. The manservant shall bring your trunks in and pay the fare too, if you like.
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