He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger. She would take the items with her; bury the items and her bloodstained clothes in one of the many sinkholes in the huge landfill/garbage dump on the south side of town. The smell of laundry detergent was noticeable, the bed sheets very tightly stretched across the bed, tucked in on three sides. "Do you know what you are talking about, Mrs. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters.
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