Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. They didn’t talk about it much, but Mike had been through some eerily similar foster homes in Florida, the where he was born. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. She’s obsessed with him, you know, totally obsessed. He glanced out of the window, looked back at the major and grasped the handle of the door. Beyond was a field sloping steeply upwards, and at the top a small pine plantation. "You can render no further service to your poor mother. He had not to wait long. ‘You said?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham, your great-aunt, miss. In the corner of the room were two hockey-sticks and a tennis-racket, and upon the walls Ann Veronica, by means of autotypes, had indicated her proclivities in art.
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