Her amusement fled and she stared at him, as a slow thump began beating at her breast. She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat. The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. He felt he had raised a storm which it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to allay. The hurricane had now reached its climax. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. ‘Come, mademoiselle. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit.
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