“How would you know?” Michelle’s interest was piqued. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. “I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister. If he wants you, let him get you. 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. No lights were flashing, and a single squad car was not a cause for alert, as sometimes the Becks allowed squads to use their drive to watch for speeders and other reckless drivers.
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