She had been out on Sunday she said, and on her return to her flat had noticed that the door was open an inch or two. Her first impression was simply that the lock had failed to catch. She remembered thinking she must be more careful, pushing the door more widely open, entering, and that was all she knew, except for a vague, confused impression of falling and of darkness. She had had no glimpse of her assailant, and could not even offer a guess at his identity or his purpose. The next thing she remembered was waking up in hospital and wondering where she was. She had no knowledge of her rescue from the lobby cupboard or of her narrow escape from death by suffocation. “Was there anything of value in the flat?” Bobby asked. “Some jewellery I have, and a little money, and my post office savings book,” she answered, “nothing else, and I’ve asked, and they’re all safe.” “Would you think it possible,”
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