Michelle's home was one of the smaller palaces, made solidly of red brick with charming black shutters and window boxes full of drooping violets. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken. In this screen, which masked the entrance of a dark passage communicating with the Condemned Hold, about five feet from the ground, was a hatch, protected by long spikes set six inches apart, and each of the thickness of an elephant's tusk. She lifted the sheet and gestured for him to join her. “You decline to help us in any way, then,” he said. “With your permission I should like to search the remainder of your rooms.
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