Agatha Christie

Towards Zero

To Robert Graves

Dear Robert,

Since you are kind enough to say you like my stories, I venture to dedicate this book to you. All I ask is that you should sternly restrain your critical faculties (doubtless sharpened by your recent excesses in that line!) when reading it.

This is a story for your pleasure and not a candidate for Mr. Gravesâ€™ literary pillory!

Your friend,

Prologue

NOVEMBER 19TH

The group round the fireplace was nearly all composed of lawyers or those who had an interest in the law. There was Martin-dale the solicitor, Rufus Lord, KC, young Daniels who had made a name for himself in the Carstairs case, a sprinkling of other barristers, Mr. Justice Cleaver, Lewis of Lewis and Trench and old Mr. Treves. Mr. Treves was close on eighty, a very ripe and experienced eighty. He was a member of a famous firm of solicitors, and the most famous member of that firm, he was said to know more of backstairs history than any man in England and he was a specialist on criminology.

Unthinking people said Mr. Treves ought to write his memoirs. Mr. Treves knew better. He knew that he knew too much.

Though he had long retired from active practice, there was no man in England whose opinion was so respected by the members of his own fraternity. Whenever his thin precise little voice was raised there was always a respectful silence.

The conversation now was on the subject of a much talked of case which had finished that day at the Old Bailey. It was a murder case and the prisoner had been acquitted. The present company was busy trying the case over again and making technical criticisms.

The prosecution had made a mistake in relying on one of its witnessesâold Depleach ought to have realized what an opening he was giving to the defence. Young Arthur had made the most of that servant girlâs evidence. Bentmore, in his summing up, had very rightly put the matter in its correct perspective, but the mischief was done by thenâthe jury had believed the girl. Juries were funnyâyou never knew what theyâd swallow and what they wouldnât. But let them once get a thing into their heads and no one was ever going to get it out again. They believed that the girl was speaking the truth about the crowbar and that was that. The medical evidence had been a bit above their heads. All those long terms and scientific jargonâdamned bad witnesses, these scientific johnniesâalways hemmed and hawed and couldnât say yes or no to a plain questionâalways âin certain circumstances that might take placeââand so on!

They talked themselves out, little by little, and as the remarks became more spasmodic and disjointed, a general feeling grew of something lacking. One head after another turned in the direction of Mr. Treves. For Mr. Treves had as yet contributed nothing to the discussion. Gradually it became apparent that the company was waiting for a final word from its most respected colleague.

Mr. Treves, leaning back in his chair, was absentmindedly polishing his glasses. Something in the silence made him look up sharply.

âEh?â he said. âWhat was that? You asked me something?â

Young Lewis spoke.

âWe were talking, sir, about the Lamorne case.â

He paused expectantly.

âYes, yes,â said Mr. Treves. âI was thinking of that.â

There was a respectful hush.

âBut Iâm afraid,â said Mr. Treves, still polishing, âthat I was being fanciful. Yes, fanciful. Result of getting on in years, I suppose. At my age one can claim the privilege of being fanciful, if one likes.â

âYes, indeed, sir,â said young Lewis, but he looked puzzled.

âI was thinking,â said Mr. Treves, ânot so much of the various points of law raisedâthough they were interestingâvery interestingâif the verdict had gone the other way there would have been good grounds for appeal. I rather thinkâbut I wonât go into that now. I was thinking, as I say, not of the points of law but of theâwell, of the people in the case.â

Everybody looked rather astonished. They had considered the people in the case only as regarding their credibility or otherwise as witnesses. No one had even hazarded a speculation as to whether the prisoner had been guilty or as innocent as the court had pronounced him to be.

âHuman beings, you know,â said Mr. Treves thoughtfully. âHuman beings. All kinds and sorts and sizes and shapes of âem. Some with brains and a good many more without. Theyâd come from all over the place, Lancashire, Scotlandâthat restaurant proprietor from Italy and that school teacher woman from somewhere out Middle West. All caught up and enmeshed in the thing and finally all brought together in a court of law in London on a grey November day. Each one contributing his little part. The whole thing culminating in a trial for murder.â

He paused and gently beat a delicate tattoo on his knee.

âI like a good detective story,â he said. âBut, you know, they begin in the wrong place! They begin with the murder. But the murder is the end. The story begins long before thatâyears before sometimesâwith all the causes and events that bring certain people to a certain place at a certain time on a certain day. Take that little maid servantâs evidenceâif the kitchenmaid hadnât pinched her young man she wouldnât have thrown up her situation in a huff and gone to the Lamornes and been the principal witness for the defence. That Guiseppe Antonelliâcoming over to exchange with his brother for a month. The brother is as blind as a bat. He wouldnât have seen what Guiseppeâs sharp eyes saw. If the constable hadnât been sweet on the cook at No. 48, he wouldnât have been late on his beatâ¦.â

He nodded his head gently:

âAll converging towards a given spotâ¦And then, when the time comesâover the top! Zero Hour. Yes, all of them converging towards zeroâ¦.â

He repeated: âTowards zeroâ¦.â

Then gave a quick little shudder.

âYouâre cold, sir, come nearer the fire.â

âNo, no,â said Mr. Treves. âJust someone walking over my grave, as they say. Well, well, I must be making my way homewards.â

He gave an affable little nod and went slowly and precisely out of the room.

There was a moment of dubious silence and then Rufus Lord, KC, remarked that poor old Treves was getting on.

Sir William Cleaver said:

âAn acute brainâa very acute brainâbut Anno Domini tells in the end.â

âGot a groggy heart, too,â said Lord. âMay drop down any minute, I believe.â

âHe takes pretty good care of himself,â said young Lewis.

At that moment Mr. Treves was carefully stepping into his smooth-running Daimler. It deposited him at a house in a quiet square. A solicitous butler valet helped him off with his coat. Mr. Treves walked into his library where a coal fire was burning. His bedroom lay beyond, for out of consideration for his heart he never went upstairs.

He sat down in front of the fire and drew his letters towards him.

His mind was still dwelling on the fancy he had outlined at the Club.

âEven now,â thought Mr. Treves to himself, âsome dramaâsome murder to beâis in course of preparation. If I were writing one of these amusing stories of blood and crime, I should begin now with an elderly gentleman sitting in front of the fire opening his lettersâgoing, unbeknownst to himselfâtowards zeroâ¦.â

He slit open an envelope and gazed down absently at the sheet he abstracted from it.

Suddenly his expression changed. He came back from romance to reality.

âDear me,â said Mr. Treves. âHow extremely annoying! Really, how very vexing. After all these years! This will alter all my plans.â

âOPEN THE DOOR AND HERE ARE THE PEOPLEâ

January 11th

The man in the hospital bed shifted his body slightly and stifled a groan.

The nurse in charge of the ward got up from her table and came down to him. She shifted his pillows and moved him into a more comfortable position.

Angus MacWhirter only gave a grunt by way of thanks.

He was in a state of seething rebellion and bitterness.

By this time it ought to have been over. He ought to have been out of it all! Curse that damned ridiculous tree growing out of the cliff! Curse those officious sweethearts who braved the cold of a winterâs night to keep a tryst on the cliff edge.

But for them (and the tree!) it would have been overâa plunge into the deep icy water, a brief struggle perhaps, and then oblivionâthe end of a misused, useless, unprofitable life.

And now where was he? Lying ridiculously in a hospital bed with a broken shoulder and with the prospect of being hauled up in a police court for the crime of trying to take his own life.

Curse it, it was his own life, wasnât it?

And if he had succeeded in the job, they would have buried him piously as of unsound mind!

Unsound mind, indeed! Heâd never been saner! And to commit suicide was the most logical and sensible thing that could be done by a man in his position.

Completely down and out, with his health permanently affected, with a wife who had left him for another man. Without a job, without affection, without money, health or hope, surely to end it all was the only possible solution?

And now here he was in this ridiculous plight. He would shortly be admonished by a sanctimonious magistrate for doing the commonsense thing with a commodity which belonged to him and to him onlyâhis life.

He snorted with anger. A wave of fever passed over him.

The nurse was beside him again.

She was young, red-haired, with a kindly, rather vacant face.

âAre you in much pain?â

âNo, Iâm not.â

âIâll give you something to make you sleep.â

âYouâll do nothing of the sort.â

âButââ

âDo you think I canât bear a bit of pain and sleeplessness?â

She smiled in a gentle, slightly superior way.

âDoctor said you could have something.â

âI donât care what doctor said.â

She straightened the covers and set a glass of lemonade a little nearer to him. He said, slightly ashamed of himself:

âSorry if I was rude.â

âOh, thatâs all right.â

It annoyed him that she was so completely undisturbed by his bad temper. Nothing like that could penetrate her nurseâs armour of indulgent indifference. He was a patientânot a man.

He said:

âDamned interferenceâall this damned interferenceâ¦.â

She said reprovingly:

âNow, now, that isnât very nice.â

âNice?â he demanded. âNice? My God.â

She said calmly: âYouâll feel better in the morning.â

He swallowed.

âYou nurses. You nurses! Youâre inhuman, thatâs what you are!â

âWe know whatâs best for you, you see.â

âThatâs whatâs so infuriating! About you. About a hospital. About the world. Continual interference! Knowing whatâs best for other people. I tried to kill myself. You know that, donât you?â

She nodded.

âNobodyâs business but mine whether I threw myself off a bloody cliff or not. Iâd finished with life. I was down and out!â

She made a little clicking noise with her tongue. It indicated abstract sympathy. He was a patient. She was soothing him by letting him blow off steam.

âWhy shouldnât I kill myself if I want to?â he demanded.

She replied to that quite seriously.

âBecause itâs wrong.â

âWhy is it wrong?â

She looked at him doubtfully. She was not disturbed in her own belief, but she was much too inarticulate to explain her reaction.

âWellâI meanâitâs wicked to kill yourself. Youâve got to go on living whether you like it or not.â

âWhy have you?â

âWell, there are other people to consider, arenât there?â

âNot in my case. Thereâs not a soul in the world whoâd be the worse for my passing on.â

âHavenât you got any relations? No mother or sisters or anything?â

âNo. I had a wife once but she left meâquite right too! She saw I was no good.â

âBut youâve got friends, surely?â

âNo, I havenât. Iâm not a friendly sort of man. Look here, nurse, Iâll tell you something. I was a happy sort of chap once. Had a good job and a good-looking wife. There was a car accident. My boss was driving the car and I was in it. He wanted me to say he was driving under thirty at the time of the accident. He wasnât. He was driving nearer fifty. Nobody was killed, nothing like that, he just wanted to be in the right for the insurance people. Well, I wouldnât say what he wanted. It was a lie. I donât tell lies.â

The nurse said:

âWell, I think you were quite right. Quite right.â

âYou do, do you? That pigheadedness of mine cost me my job. My boss was sore. He saw to it that I didnât get another. My wife got fed up seeing me mooch about unable to get anything to do. She went off with a man who had been my friend. He was doing well and going up in the world. I drifted along, going steadily down. I took to drinking a bit. That didnât help me to hold down jobs. Finally I came down to haulingâstrained my insideâthe doctor told me Iâd never be strong again. Well, there wasnât much to live for then. Easiest way, and the cleanest way, was to go right out. My life was no good to myself or anyone else.â

The little nurse murmured:

âYou donât know that.â

He laughed. He was better-tempered already. Her naÃ¯ve obstinacy amused him.

âMy dear girl, what use am I to anybody?â

She said confusedly:

âYou donât know. You may beâsomedayââ

âSomeday? There wonât be any someday. Next time I shall make sure.â

She shook her head decidedly.

âOh, no,â she said. âYou wonât kill yourself now.â

âWhy not?â

âThey never do.â

He stared at her. âThey never do.â He was one of a class of would-be suicides. Opening his mouth to protest energetically, his innate honesty suddenly stopped him.

Would he do it again? Did he really mean to do it?

He knew suddenly that he didnât. For no reason. Perhaps the right reason was the one she had given out of her specialized knowledge. Suicides didnât do it again.

All the more he felt determined to force an admission from her on the ethical side.

âAt any rate Iâve got a right to do what I like with my own life.â

âNoâno, you havenât.â

âBut why not, my dear girl, why?â

She flushed. She said, her fingers playing with the little gold cross that hung round her neck:

âYou donât understand. God may need you.â

He staredâtaken aback. He did not want to upset her childlike faith. He said mockingly:

âI suppose that one day I may stop a runaway horse and save a golden-haired child from deathâeh? Is that it?â

She shook her head. She said with vehemence and trying to express what was so vivid in her mind and so halting on her tongue:

âIt may be just by being somewhereânot doing anythingâjust by being at a certain place at a certain timeâoh, I canât say what I mean, but you might justâjust walk along a street some day and just by doing that accomplish something terribly importantâperhaps even without knowing what it was.â

The red-haired little nurse came from the west coast of Scotland and some of her family had âthe sight.â

Perhaps, dimly, she saw a picture of a man walking up a road on a night in September and thereby saving a human being from a terrible deathâ¦.

February 14th

There was only one person in the room and the only sound to be heard was the scratching of that personâs pen as it traced line after line across the paper.

There was no one to read the words that were being traced. If there had been, they would hardly have believed their eyes. For what was being written was a clear, carefully detailed project for murder.

There are times when a body is conscious of a mind controlling itâwhen it bows obedient to that alien something that controls its actions. There are other times when a mind is conscious of owning and controlling a body and accomplishing its purpose by using that body.

The figure sitting writing was in the last-named state. It was a mind, a cool, controlled intelligence. This mind had only one thought and one purposeâthe destruction of another human being. To the end that this purpose might be accomplished, the scheme was being worked out meticulously on paper. Every eventuality, every possibility was being taken into account. The thing had got to be absolutely foolproof. The scheme, like all good schemes, was not absolutely cut and dried. There were certain alternative actions at certain points. Moreover, since the mind was intelligent, it realized that there must be intelligent provision left for the unforeseen. But the main lines were clear and had been closely tested. The time, the place, the method, the victim!â¦

The figure raised its head. With its hand, it picked up the sheets of paper and read them carefully through. Yes, the thing was crystal clear.

Across the serious face a smile came. It was a smile that was not quite sane. The figure drew a deep breath.

As man was made in the image of his Maker, so there was now a terrible travesty of a creatorâs joy.

Yes, everything plannedâeveryoneâs reaction foretold and allowed for, the good and evil in everybody played upon and brought into harmony with one evil design.

There was one thing lacking stillâ¦.

With a smile the writer traced a dateâa date in September.

Then, with a laugh, the paper was torn in pieces and the pieces carried across the room and put into the heart of the glowing fire. There was no carelessness. Every single piece was consumed and destroyed. The plan was now only existent in the brain of its creator.

March 8th

Superintendent Battle was sitting at the breakfast table. His jaw was set in a truculent fashion and he was reading, slowly and carefully, a letter that his wife had just tearfully handed to him. There was no expression visible on his face, for his face never did register any expression. It had the aspect of a face carved out of wood. It was solid and durable and, in some way, impressive. Superintendent Battle had never suggested brilliance; he was, definitely, not a brilliant man, but he had some other quality, difficult to define, that was nevertheless forceful.

âI canât believe it,â said Mrs. Battle, sobbing. âSylvia!â

Sylvia was the youngest of Superintendent and Mrs. Battleâs five children. She was sixteen and at school near Maidstone.

The letter was from Miss Amphrey, headmistress of the school in question. It was a clear, kindly and extremely tactful letter. It set out, in black and white, that various small thefts had been puzzling the school authorities for some time, that the matter had at last been cleared up, that Sylvia Battle had confessed, and that Miss Amphrey would like to see Mr. and Mrs. Battle at the earliest opportunity âto discuss the position.â

Superintendent Battle folded up the letter, put it in his pocket, and said: âYou leave this to me, Mary.â

He got up, walked round the table, patted her on the cheek and said, âDonât worry, dear, it will be all right.â

He went from the room, leaving comfort and reassurance behind him.

That afternoon, in Miss Amphreyâs modern and individualistic drawing room, Superintendent Battle sat very squarely on his chair, his large wooden hands on his knees, confronting Miss Amphrey and managing to look, far more than usual, every inch a policeman.

Miss Amphrey was a very successful headmistress. She had personalityâa great deal of personality, she was enlightened and up to date, and she combined discipline with modern ideas of self-determination.

Her room was representative of the spirit of Meadway. Everything was of a cool oatmeal colourâthere were big jars of daffodils and bowls of tulips and hyacinths. One or two good copies of the antique Greek, two pieces of advanced modern sculpture, two Italian primitives on the walls. In the midst of all this, Miss Amphrey herself, dressed in a deep shade of blue, with an eager face suggestive of a conscientious greyhound, and clear blue eyes looking serious through thick lenses.

âThe important thing,â she was saying in her clear well-modulated voice, âis that this should be taken the right way. It is the girl herself we have to think of, Mr. Battle. Sylvia herself! It is most importantâmost important, that her life should not be crippled in any way. She must not be made to assume a burden of guiltâblame must be very very sparingly meted out, if at all. We must arrive at the reason behind these quite trivial pilferings. A sense of inferiority, perhaps? She is not good at games, you knowâan obscure wish to shine in a different sphereâthe desire to assert her ego? We must be very very careful. That is why I wanted to see you alone firstâto impress upon you to be very very careful with Sylvia. I repeat again, itâs very important to get at what is behind this.â

âThat, Miss Amphrey,â said Superintendent Battle, âis why I have come down.â

His voice was quiet, his face unemotional, his eyes surveyed the school mistress appraisingly.

âI have been very gentle with her,â said Miss Amphrey.

Battle said laconically:

âGood of you, Maâam.â

âYou see, I really love and understand these young things.â

Battle did not reply directly. He said:

âIâd like to see my girl now, if you donât mind, Miss Amphrey.â

With renewed emphasis Miss Amphrey admonished him to be carefulâto go slowânot to antagonize a child just budding into womanhood.

Superintendent Battle showed no signs of impatience. He just looked blank.

She took him at last to her study. They passed one or two girls in the passages. They stood politely to attention but their eyes were full of curiosity. Having ushered Battle into a small room, not quite so redolent of personality as the one downstairs, Miss Amphrey withdrew and said she would send Sylvia to him.

Just as she was leaving the room, Battle stopped her.

âOne minute, Maâam, how did you come to pitch upon Sylvia as the one responsible for theseâerâleakages?â

âMy methods, Mr. Battle, were psychological.â

Miss Amphrey spoke with dignity.

âPsychological? Hâm. What about the evidence, Miss Amphrey?â

âYes, yes, I quite understand, Mr. Battleâyou would feel that way. Yourâerâprofession steps in. But psychology is beginning to be recognized in criminology. I can assure you that there is no mistakeâSylvia freely admits the whole thing.â

âYes, yesâI know that. I was just asking how you came to pitch upon her to begin with.â

âWell, Mr. Battle, this business of things being taken out of the girlsâ lockers was on the increase. I called the school together and told them the facts. At the same time, I studied their faces unobtrusively. Sylviaâs expression struck me at once. It was guiltyâconfused. I knew at that moment who was responsible. I wanted, not to confront her with her guilt, but to get her to admit it herself. I set a little test for herâa word association.â

Battle nodded to show he understood.

âAnd finally the child admitted it all.â

Her father said:

âI see.â

Miss Amphrey hesitated a minute, then went out.

Battle was standing looking out of the window when the door opened again.

He turned round slowly and looked at his daughter.

Sylvia stood just inside the door, which she had closed behind her. She was tall, dark, angular. Her face was sullen and bore marks of tears. She said timidly rather than defiantly:

âWell, here I am.â

Battle looked at her thoughtfully for a minute or two. He sighed.

âI should never have sent you to this place,â he said. âThat womanâs a fool.â

Sylvia lost sight of her own problems in sheer amazement.

âMiss Amphrey? Oh, but sheâs wonderful. We all think so.â

âHâm,â said Battle. âCanât be quite a fool, then, if she sells the idea of herself as well as that. All the same, Meadway wasnât the place for youâalthough I donât knowâthis might have happened anywhere.â

Sylvia twisted her hands together. She looked down. She said:

âIâmâIâm sorry, Father. I really am.â

âSo you should be,â said Battle shortly. âCome here.â

She came slowly and unwillingly across the room to him. He took her chin in his great square hand and looked closely into her face.

âBeen through a good deal, havenât you?â he said gently.

Tears started into her eyes.

Battle said slowly:

âYou see, Sylvia, Iâve known all along with you, that there was something. Most people have got a weakness of some kind or another. Usually itâs plain enough. You can see when a childâs greedy, or bad-tempered, or got a streak of the bully in him. You were a good child, very quietâvery sweet-temperedâno trouble in any wayâand sometimes Iâve worried. Because if thereâs a flaw you donât see, sometimes it wrecks the whole show when the article is tried out.â

âLike me!â said Sylvia.

âYes, like you. Youâve cracked under strainâand in a damned queer way too. Itâs a way, oddly enough, Iâve never come across before.â

The girl said suddenly and scornfully:

âI should think youâd come across thieves often enough!â

âOh yesâI know all about them. And thatâs why, my dearânot because Iâm your father (fathers donât know much about their children) but because Iâm a policeman I know well enough youâre not a thief. You never took a thing in this place. Thieves are of two kinds, the kind that yields to sudden and overwhelming temptationâ(and that happens damned seldomâitâs amazing what temptation the ordinary normal honest human being can withstand) and thereâs the kind that just takes what doesnât belong to them almost as a matter of course. You donât belong to either type. Youâre not a thief. Youâre a very unusual type of liar.â

Sylvia began, âButââ

He swept on.

âYouâve admitted it all? Oh yes, I know that. There was a saint onceâwent out with bread for the poor. Husband didnât like it. Met her and asked what there was in her basket. She lost her nerve and said it was rosesâhe tore open her basket and roses it wasâa miracle! Now if youâd been Saint Elizabeth and were out with a basket of roses, and your husband had come along and asked what youâd got, youâd have lost your nerve and said âBread.ââ

He paused and then said gently:

âThatâs how it happened, isnât it?â

There was a longer pause and then the girl suddenly bent her head.

Battle said:

âTell me, child. What happened exactly?â

âShe had us all up. Made a speech. And I saw her eyes on me and I knew she thought it was me! I felt myself getting redâand I saw some of the girls looking at me. It was awful. And then the others began looking at me and whispering in corners. I could see they all thought so. And then the Amp had me up here with some of the others one evening and we played a sort of word gameâshe said words and we gave answersââ

Battle gave a disgusted grunt.

âAnd I could see what it meantâandâand I sort of got paralysed. I tried not to give the wrong wordâI tried to think of things quite outsideâlike squirrels or flowersâand the Amp was there watching me with eyes like gimletsâyou know, sort of boring inside one. And after thatâoh, it got worse and worse, and one day the Amp talked to me quite kindly and soâso understandinglyâandâand I broke down and said I had done itâand oh! Daddy, the relief!â

Battle was stroking his chin.

âI see.â

âYou do understand?â

âNo, Sylvia, I donât understand, because Iâm not made that way. If anyone tried to make me say Iâd done something I hadnât Iâd feel more like giving them a sock on the jaw. But I see how it came about in your caseâand that gimlet-eyed Amp of yours has had as pretty an example of unusual psychology shoved under her nose as any half-baked exponent of misunderstood theories could ask for. The thing to do now is clear up this mess. Whereâs Miss Amphrey?â

Miss Amphrey was hovering tactfully near at hand. Her sympathetic smile froze on her face as Superintendent Battle said bluntly:

âIn justice to my daughter, I must ask that you call in your local police over this.â

âBut, Mr. Battle, Sylvia herselfââ

âSylvia has never touched a thing that didnât belong to her in this place.â

âI quite understand that, as a fatherââ

âIâm not talking as a father, but as a policeman. Get the police to give you a hand over this. Theyâll be discreet. Youâll find the things hidden away somewhere and the right set of fingerprints on them, I expect. Petty pilferers donât think of wearing gloves. Iâm taking my daughter away with me now. If the police find evidenceâreal evidenceâto connect her with the thefts, Iâm prepared for her to appear in court and take whatâs coming to her, but Iâm not afraid.â

As he drove out of the gate with Sylvia beside him some five minutes later, he asked:

âWhoâs the girl with fair hair, rather fuzzy, very pink cheeks and a spot on her chin, blue eyes far apart? I passed her in the passage.â

âThat sounds like Olive Parsons.â

âAh, well, I shouldnât be surprised if she were the one.â

âDid she look frightened?â

âNo, looked smug! Calm smug look Iâve seen in the police court hundreds of times! Iâd bet good money sheâs the thiefâbut you wonât find her confessingânot much!â

Sylvia said with a sigh:

âItâs like coming out of a bad dream. Oh Daddy, I am sorry! Oh, I am sorry! How could I be such a fool, such an utter fool? I do feel awful about it.â

âAh, well,â said Superintendent Battle, patting her on the arm with a hand he disengaged from the wheel, and uttering one of his pet forms of trite consolation. âDonât you worry. These things are sent to try us. Yes, these things are sent to try us. At least, I suppose so. I donât see what else they can be sent forâ¦.â

April 19th

The sun was pouring down on Nevile Strangeâs house at Hindhead.

It was an April day such as usually occurs at least once in a month, hotter than most of the June days to follow.

Nevile Strange was coming down the stairs. He was dressed in white flannels and held four tennis racquets under his arm.

If a man could have been selected from amongst other Englishmen as an example of a lucky man with nothing to wish for, a Selection Committee might have chosen Nevile Strange. He was a man well known to the British public, a first-class tennis player and all-round sportsman. Though he had never reached the finals at Wimbledon, he had lasted several of the opening rounds and in the mixed doubles had twice reached the semifinals. He was, perhaps, too much of an all-round athlete to be a Champion tennis player. He was scratch at golf, a fine swimmer and had done some good climbs in the Alps. He was thirty-three, had magnificent health, good looks, plenty of money, an extremely beautiful wife whom he had recently married and, to all appearances, no cares or worries.

Nevertheless as Nevile Strange went downstairs this fine morning a shadow went with him. A shadow perceptible, perhaps, to no eyes but his. But he was aware of it, the thought of it furrowed his brow and made his expression troubled and indecisive.

He crossed the hall, squared his shoulders as though definitely throwing off some burden, passed through the living room and out on to a glass-enclosed veranda where his wife, Kay, was curled up amongst cushions drinking orange juice.

Kay Strange was twenty-three and unusually beautiful. She had a slender but subtly voluptuous figure, dark red hair, such a perfect skin that she used only the slightest makeup to enhance it, and those dark eyes and brows which so seldom go with red hair and which are so devastating when they do.

Her husband said lightly:

âHullo, Gorgeous, whatâs for breakfast?â

Kay replied: âHorribly bloody-looking kidneys for youâand mushroomsâand rolls of bacon.â

âSounds all right,â said Nevile.

He helped himself to the aforementioned viands and poured out a cup of coffee. There was a companionable silence for some minutes.

âOo,â said Kay voluptuously, wriggling bare toes with scarlet manicured nails. âIsnât the sun lovely? Englandâs not so bad after all.â

They had just come back from the South of France.

Nevile, after a bare glance at the newspaper healines, had turned to the Sports page and merely said âUmâ¦.â

Then, proceeding to toast and marmalade, he put the paper aside and opened his letters.

There were a good many of these, but most of them he tore across and chucked away. Circulars, advertisements, printed matter.

Kay said: âI donât like my colour scheme in the living room. Can I have it done over, Nevile?â

âAnything you like, beautiful.â

âPeacock blue,â said Kay dreamily, âand ivory satin cushions.â

âYouâll have to throw in an ape,â said Nevile.

âYou can be the ape,â said Kay.

Nevile opened another letter.

âOh, by the way,â said Kay. âShirty has asked us to go to Norway on the yacht at the end of June. Rather sickening we canât.â

She looked cautiously sideways at Nevile and added wistfully: âI would love it so.â

Something, some cloud, some uncertainty, seemed hovering on Nevileâs face.

Kay said rebelliously:

âHave we got to go to dreary old Camillaâs?â

Nevile frowned.

âOf course we have. Look here, Kay, weâve had this out before. Sir Matthew was my guardian. He and Camilla looked after me. Gullâs Point is my home, as far as any place is home to me.â

âOh all right, all right,â said Kay. âIf we must, we must. After all, we get all that money when she dies, so I suppose we have to suck up a bit.â

Nevile said angrily:

âItâs not a question of sucking up! Sheâs no control over the money. Sir Matthew left it in trust for her during her lifetime and to come to me and my wife afterwards. Itâs a question of affection. Why canât you understand that?â

Kay said, after a momentâs pause:

âI do understand really. Iâm just putting on an act becauseâwell because I know Iâm only allowed there on sufferance as it were. They hate me! Yes, they do! Lady Tressilian looks down that long nose of hers at me and Mary Aldin looks over my shoulder when she talks to me. Itâs all very well for you. You donât see what goes on.â

âThey always seem to be very polite to you. You know quite well I wouldnât stand for it if they werenât.â

Kay gave him a curious look from under her dark lashes.

âTheyâre polite enough. But they know how to get under my skin all right. Iâm the interloper, thatâs what they feel.â

âWell,â said Nevile, âafter all, I supposeâthatâs natural enough, isnât it?â

His voice had changed slightly. He got up and stood looking out at the view with his back to Kay.

âOh yes, I daresay, itâs natural. They were devoted to Audrey, werenât they?â Her voice shook a little. âDear, well-bred, cool, colourless Audrey! Camillaâs not forgiven me for taking her place.â

Nevile did not turn. His voice was lifeless, dull. He said: âAfter all, Camillaâs oldâpast seventy. Her generation doesnât really like divorce, you know. On the whole I think sheâs accepted the position very well considering how fond she was ofâof Audrey.â

His voice changed just a little as he spoke the name.

âThey think you treated her badly.â

âSo I did,â said Nevile under his breath, but his wife heard.

âOh Nevileâdonât be so stupid. Just because she chose to make such a frightful fuss.â

âShe didnât make a fuss. Audrey never made fusses.â

âWell, you know what I mean. Because she went away and was ill, and went about everywhere looking brokenhearted. Thatâs what I call a fuss! Audreyâs not what I call a good loser. From my point of view if a wife canât hold her husband she ought to give him up gracefully! You two had nothing in common. She never played a game and was as anaemic and washed up asâas a dish rag. No life or go in her! If she really cared about you, she ought to have thought about your happiness first and been glad you were going to be happy with someone more suited to you.â

Nevile turned. A faintly sardonic smile played around his lips.

âWhat a little sportsman! How to play the game in love and matrimony!â

Kay laughed and reddened.

âWell, perhaps I was going a bit too far. But at any rate once the thing had happened, there it was. Youâve got to accept these things!â

Nevile said quietly:

âAudrey accepted it. She divorced me so that you and I could marry.â

âYes, I knowââ Kay hesitated.

Nevile said: âYouâve never understood Audrey.â

âNo, I havenât. In a way, Audrey gives me the creeps. I donât know what it is about her. You never know what sheâs thinkingâ¦Sheâsâsheâs a little frightening.â

âOh, nonsense, Kay.â

âWell, she frightens me. Perhaps itâs because sheâs got brains.â

âMy lovely nitwit!â

Kay laughed.

âYou always call me that!â

âBecause itâs what you are!â

They smiled at each other. Nevile came over to her and, bending down, kissed the back of her neck.

âLovely, lovely Kay,â he murmured.

âVery good Kay,â said Kay. âGiving up a lovely yachting trip to go and be snubbed by her husbandâs prim Victorian relations.â

Nevile went back and sat down by the table.

âYou know,â he said. âI donât see why we shouldnât go on that trip with Shirty if you really want to so much.â

Kay sat up in astonishment.

âAnd what about Saltcreek and Gullâs Point?â

Nevile said in a rather unnatural voice:

âI donât see why we shouldnât go there early in September.â

âOh, but Nevile, surelyââ She stopped.

âWe canât go in July and August because of the Tournaments,â said Nevile. âBut weâd finish up at St. Loo the last week in August, and it would fit in very well if we went on to Saltcreek from there.â

âOh, it would fit in all rightâbeautifully. But I thoughtâwell, she always goes there for September, doesnât she?â

âAudrey, you mean?â

âYes. I suppose they could put her off, butââ

âWhy should they put her off?â

Kay stared at him dubiously.

âYou mean, weâd be there at the same time? What an extraordinary idea.â

Nevile said irritably:

âI donât think itâs at all an extraordinary idea. Lots of people do it nowadays. Why shouldnât we all be friends together? It makes things so much simpler. Why, you said so yourself only the other day.â

âI did?â

âYes, donât you remember? We were talking about the Howes, and you said it was the sensible civilized way to look at things, and that Leonardâs new wife and his Ex were the best of friends.â

âOh, I wouldnât mind. I do think itâs sensible. Butâwell, I donât think Audrey would feel like that about it.â

âNonsense.â

âIt isnât nonsense. You know, Nevile, Audrey really was terribly fond of youâ¦I donât think sheâd stand it for a moment.â

âYouâre quite wrong, Kay. Audrey thinks it would be quite a good thing.â

âAudreyâwhat do you mean, Audrey thinks? How do you know what Audrey thinks?â

Nevile looked slightly embarrassed. He cleared his throat a little self-consciously.

âAs a matter of fact, I happened to run into her yesterday when I was up in London.â

âYou never told me.â

Nevile said irritably:

âIâm telling you now. It was absolute chance. I was walking across the Park and there she was coming towards me. You wouldnât want me to run away from her, would you?â

âNo, of course not,â said Kay, staring. âGo on.â

âIâweâwell, we stopped, of course, and then I turned round and walked with her. IâI felt it was the least I could do.â

âGo on,â said Kay.

âAnd then we sat down on a couple of chairs and talked. She was very niceâvery nice indeed.â

âDelightful for you,â said Kay.

âAnd we got talking, you know, about one thing and another. She was quite natural and normal andâand all that.â

âRemarkable!â said Kay.

âAnd she asked how you wereââ

âVery kind of her!â

âAnd we talked about you for a bit. Really, Kay, she couldnât have been nicer.â

âDarling Audrey!â

âAnd then it sort of came to meâyou knowâhow nice it would be ifâif you two could be friendsâif we could all get together. And it occurred to me that perhaps we might manage it at Gullâs Point this summer. Sort of place it could happen quite naturally.â

âYou thought of that?â

âIâwellâyes, of course. It was all my idea.â

âYouâve never said anything to me about having any such idea.â

âWell, I only happened to think of it just then.â

âI see. Anyway, you suggested it and Audrey thought it was a marvellous brainwave?â

For the first time, something in Kayâs manner seemed to penetrate to Nevileâs consciousness.

He said:

âIs anything the matter, gorgeous?â

âOh no, nothing! Nothing at all! It didnât occur to you or Audrey whether I should think it a marvellous idea?â

Nevile stared at her.

âBut, Kay, why on earth should you mind?â

Kay bit her lip.

Nevile went on:

âYou said yourself only the other dayââ

âOh, donât go into all that again! I was talking about other peopleânot us.â

âBut thatâs partly what made me think of it.â

âMore fool me. Not that I believe that.â

Nevile was looking at her with dismay.

âBut, Kay, why should you mind? I mean, thereâs nothing for you to mind about!â

âIsnât there?â

âWell, I meanâany jealousy or thatâwould be on the other side.â He paused, his voice changed. âYou see, Kay, you and I treated Audrey damned badly. No, I donât mean that. It was nothing to do with you. I treated her very badly. Itâs no good just saying that I couldnât help myself. I feel that if this could come off Iâd feel better about the whole thing. It would make me a lot happier.â

Kay said slowly: âSo you havenât been happy?â

âDarling idiot, what do you mean? Of course Iâve been happy, radiantly happy. Butââ

Kay cut in.

âButâthatâs it! Thereâs always been a âbutâ in this house. Some damned creeping shadow about the place. Audreyâs shadow.â

Nevile stared at her.

âYou mean to say youâre jealous of Audrey?â he asked.

âIâm not jealous of her. Iâm afraid of herâ¦Nevile, you donât know what Audreyâs like.â

âNot know what sheâs like when Iâve been married to her for over eight years?â

âYou donât know,â Kay repeated, âwhat Audrey is like.â

April 30th

âPreposterous!â said Lady Tressilian. She drew herself up on her pillow and glared fiercely round the room. âAbsolutely preposterous! Nevile must be mad.â

âIt does seem rather odd,â said Mary Aldin.

Lady Tressilian had a striking-looking profile with a slender bridged nose down which, when so inclined, she could look with telling effect. Though now over seventy and in frail health, her native vigour of mind was in no way impaired. She had, it is true, long periods of retreat from life and its emotions when she would lie with half-closed eyes, but from these semi-comas she would emerge with all her faculties sharpened to the uttermost, and with an incisive tongue. Propped up by pillows in a large bed set across one corner of her room, she held her court like some French Queen. Mary Aldin, a distant cousin, lived with her and looked after her. The two women got on together excellently. Mary was thirty-six, but had one of those smooth ageless faces that change little with passing years. She might have been thirty or forty-five. She had a good figure, an air of breeding, and dark hair to which one lock of white across the front gave a touch of individuality. It was at one time a fashion, but Maryâs white lock of hair was natural and she had had it since her girlhood.

She looked down now reflectively at Nevile Strangeâs letter which Lady Tressilian had handed to her.

âYes,â she said. âIt does seem rather odd.â

âYou canât tell me,â said Lady Tressilian, âthat this is Nevileâs own idea! Somebodyâs put it into his head. Probably that new wife of his.â

âKay. You think it was Kayâs idea?â

âIt would be quite like her. New and vulgar! If husbands and wives have to advertise their difficulties in public and have recourse to divorce, then they might at least part decently. The new wife and the old wife making friends is quite disgusting in my mind. Nobody has any standards nowadays!â

âI suppose it is just the modern way,â said Mary.

âIt wonât happen in my house,â said Lady Tressilian. âI consider Iâve done all that could be asked of me having that scarlet-toed creature here at all.â

âShe is Nevileâs wife.â

âExactly. Therefore I felt that Matthew would have wished it. He was devoted to the boy and always wanted him to look on this as his home. Since to refuse to receive his wife would have made an open breach, I gave way and asked her here. I do not like herâsheâs quite the wrong wife for Nevileâno background, no roots!â

âSheâs quite well born,â said Mary placatingly.

âBad stock!â said Lady Tressilian. âHer father, as Iâve told you, had to resign from all his clubs after that card business. Luckily he died shortly after. And her mother was notorious on the Riviera. What a bringing up for the girl. Nothing but Hotel lifeâand that mother! Then she meets Nevile on the tennis courts, makes a dead set at him and never rests until she gets him to leave his wifeâof whom he was extremely fondâand go off with her! I blame her entirely for the whole thing!â

Mary smiled faintly. Lady Tressilian had the old-fashioned characteristic of always blaming the woman and being indulgent towards the man in the case.

âI suppose, strictly speaking, Nevile was equally to blame,â she suggested.

âNevile was very much to blame,â agreed Lady Tressilian. âHe had a charming wife who had always been devotedâperhaps too devotedâto him. Nevertheless, if it hadnât been for that girlâs persistence, I am convinced he would have come to his senses. But she was determined to marry him! Yes, my sympathies are entirely with Audrey. I am very fond of Audrey.â

Mary sighed. âIt has all been very difficult,â she said.

âYes, indeed. One is at a loss to know how to act in such difficult circumstances. Matthew was fond of Audrey, and so am I, and one cannot deny that she was a very good wife to Nevile though perhaps it is a pity that she could not have shared his amusements more. She was never an athletic girl. The whole business was very distressing. When I was a girl, these things simply did not happen. Men had their affairs, naturally, but they were not allowed to break up married life.â

âWell, they happen now,â said Mary bluntly.

âExactly. You have so much common sense, dear. It is of no use recalling bygone days. These things happen, and girls like Kay Mortimer steal other womenâs husbands and nobody thinks the worse of them!â

âExcept people like you, Camilla!â

âI donât count. That Kay creature doesnât worry whether I approve of her or not. Sheâs too busy having a good time. Nevile can bring her here when he comes and Iâm even willing to receive her friendsâthough I do not much care for that very theatrical-looking young man who is always hanging round herâwhat is his name?â

âTed Latimer?â

âThat is it. A friend of her Riviera daysâand I should very much like to know how he manages to live as he does.â

âBy his wits,â suggested Mary.

âOne might pardon that. I rather fancy he lives by his looks. Not a pleasant friend for Nevileâs wife! I disliked the way he came down last summer and stayed at the Easterhead Bay Hotel while they were here.â

Mary looked out of the open window. Lady Tressilianâs house was situated on a steep cliff overlooking the River Tern. On the other side of the river was the newly created summer resort of Easterhead Bay, consisting of a big sandy bathing beach, a cluster of modern bungalows and a large Hotel on the headland looking out to sea. Saltcreek itself was a straggling picturesque fishing village set on the side of a hill. It was old-fashioned, conservative and deeply contemptuous of Easterhead Bay and its summer visitors.

The Easterhead Bay Hotel was nearly exactly opposite Lady Tressilianâs house, and Mary looked across the narrow strip of water at it now where it stood in its blatant newness.

âI am glad,â said Lady Tressilian, closing her eyes, âthat Matthew never saw that vulgar building. The coastline was quite un-spoilt in his time.â

Sir Matthew and Lady Tressilian had come to Gullâs Point thirty years ago. It was nine years since Sir Matthew, an enthusiastic sailing man, had capsized his dinghy and been drowned almost in front of his wifeâs eyes.

Everybody had expected her to sell Gullâs Point and leave Saltcreek, but Lady Tressilian had not done so. She had lived on in the house, and her only visible reaction had been to dispose of all the boats and do away with the boathouse. There were no boats available for guests at Gullâs Point. They had to walk along to the ferry and hire a boat from one of the rival boatmen there.

Mary said, hesitating a little:

âShall I write, then, to Nevile and tell him that what he proposes does not fit in with our plans?â

âI certainly shall not dream of interfering with Audreyâs visit. She has always come to us in September and I shall not ask her to change her plans.â

Mary said, looking down at the letter:

âYou did see that Nevile says Audreyâerâapproves of the ideaâthat she is quite willing to meet Kay?â

âI simply donât believe it,â said Lady Tressilian. âNevile, like all men, believes what he wants to believe!â

Mary persisted:

âHe says he has actually spoken to her about it.â

âWhat a very odd thing to do! Noâperhaps, after all, it isnât!â

Mary looked at her inquiringly.

âLike Henry the Eighth,â said Lady Tressilian.

Mary looked puzzled.

Lady Tressilian elaborated her last remark.

âConscience, you know! Henry was always trying to get Catherine to agree that the divorce was the right thing. Nevile knows that he has behaved badlyâhe wants to feel comfortable about it all. So he has been trying to bully Audrey into saying everything is all right and that sheâll come and meet Kay and that she doesnât mind at all.â

âI wonder,â said Mary slowly.

Lady Tressilian looked at her sharply.

âWhatâs in your mind, my dear?â

âI was wonderingââ She stopped, then went on: âItâit seems so unlike Nevileâthis letter! You donât think that, for some reason, Audrey wants thisâthis meeting?â

âWhy should she?â said Lady Tressilian sharply. âAfter Nevile left her she went to her aunt, Mrs. Royde, at the Rectory, and had a complete breakdown. She was absolutely like a ghost of her former self. Obviously it hit her terribly hard. Sheâs one of those quiet self-contained people who feel things intensely.â

Mary moved uneasily.

âYes, she is intense. A queer girl in many waysâ¦.â

âShe suffered a lotâ¦Then the divorce went through and Nevile married the girl, and little by little Audrey began to get over it. Now sheâs almost back to her old self. You canât tell me she wants to rake up old memories again?â

Mary said with gentle obstinacy: âNevile says she does.â

The old lady looked at her curiously.

âYouâre extraordinarily obstinate about this, Mary. Why? Do you want to have them here together?â

Mary Aldin flushed. âNo, of course not.â

Lady Tressilian said sharply:

âItâs not you who have been suggesting all this to Nevile?â

âHow can you be so absurd?â

âWell, I donât believe for a minute itâs really his idea. Itâs not like Nevile.â She paused a minute, then her face cleared. âItâs the 1st of May tomorrow, isnât it? Well, on the 3rd Audrey is coming to stay with the Darlingtons at Esbank. Itâs only twenty miles away. Write and ask her to come over and lunch here.â

May 5th

âMrs. Strange, mâlady.â

Audrey Strange came into the big bedroom, crossed the room to the big bed, stooped down and kissed the old lady and sat down in the chair placed ready for her.

âNice to see you, my dear,â said Lady Tressilian.

âAnd nice to see you,â said Audrey.

There was a quality of intangibility about Audrey Strange. She was of medium height with very small hands and feet. Her hair was ash-blonde and there was very little colour in her face. Her eyes were set wide apart and were a clear pale grey. Her features were small and regular, a straight little nose set in a small oval pale face. With such colouring, with a face that was pretty but not beautiful, she had nevertheless a quality about her that could not be denied nor ignored and that drew your eyes to her again and again. She was a little like a ghost, but you felt at the same time that a ghost might be possessed of more reality than a live human beingâ¦.

She had a singularly lovely voice; soft and clear like a small silver bell.

For some minutes she and the old lady talked of mutual friends and current events. Then Lady Tressilian said:

âBesides the pleasure of seeing you, my dear, I asked you to come because Iâve had rather a curious letter from Nevile.â

Audrey looked up. Her eyes were wide, tranquil and calm. She said:

âOh yes?â

âHe suggestsâa preposterous suggestion, I call it!âthat he andâand Kay should come here in September. He says he wants you and Kay to be friends and that you yourself think it a good idea?â

She waited. Presently Audrey said in her gentle placid voice:

âIs itâso preposterous?â

âMy dearâdo you really want this to happen?â

Audrey was silent again for a minute or two, then she said gently:

âI think, you know, it might be rather a good thing.â

âYou really want to meet thisâyou want to meet Kay?â

âI do think, Camilla, that it mightâsimplify things.â

âSimplify things!â Lady Tressilian repeated the words helplessly.

Audrey spoke very softly.

âDear Camilla. You have been so good. If Nevile wants thisââ

âA fig for what Nevile wants!â said Lady Tressilian robustly. âDo you want it, thatâs the question?â

A little colour came in Audreyâs cheeks. It was the soft delicate glow of a sea shell.

âYes,â she said. âI do want it.â

âWell,â said Lady Tressilian. âWellââ

She stopped.

âBut, of course,â said Audrey. âIt is entirely your choice. It is your house andââ

Lady Tressilian shut her eyes.

âIâm an old woman,â she said. âNothing makes sense any more.â

âBut of courseâIâll come some other time. Any time will suit me.â

âYouâll come in September as you always do,â snapped Lady Tressilian. âAnd Nevile and Kay shall come too. I may be old but I can adapt myself, I suppose, as well as anyone else, to the changing phases of modern life. Not another word, thatâs settled.â

She closed her eyes again. After a minute or two she said, peering through half-shut lids at the young woman sitting beside her: âWell, got what you want?â

Audrey started.

âOh, yes, yes. Thank you.â

âMy dear,â said Lady Tressilian, and her voice was deep and concerned, âare you sure this isnât going to hurt you? You were very fond of Nevile, you know. This may reopen old wounds.â

Audrey was looking down at her small gloved hands. One of them, Lady Tressilian noticed, was clenched on the side of the bed.

Audrey lifted her head. Her eyes were calm and untroubled.

She said:

âAll that is quite over now. Quite over.â

Lady Tressilian leaned more heavily back on her pillows. âWell, you should know. Iâm tiredâyou must leave me now, dear. Mary is waiting for you downstairs. Tell them to send Barrett to me.â

Barrett was Lady Tressilianâs elderly and devoted maid.

She came in to find her mistress lying back with closed eyes.

âThe sooner Iâm out of this world the better, Barrett,â said Lady Tressilian. âI donât understand anything or anyone in it.â

âAh! donât say that, my lady, youâre tired.â

âYes, Iâm tired. Take that eiderdown off my feet and give me a dose of my tonic.â

âItâs Mrs. Strange coming thatâs upset you. A nice lady, but she could do with a tonic, Iâd say. Not healthy. Always looks as though sheâs seeing things other people donât see. But sheâs got a lot of character. She makes herself felt, as you might say.â

âThatâs very true, Barrett,â said Lady Tressilian. âYes, thatâs very true.â

âAnd sheâs not the kind you forget easily, either. Iâve often wondered if Mr. Nevile thinks about her sometimes. The new Mrs. Strange is very handsomeâvery handsome indeedâbut Miss Audrey is the kind you remember when she isnât there.â

Lady Tressilian said with a sudden chuckle:

âNevileâs a fool to want to bring those two women together. Heâs the one whoâll be sorry for it!â

May 29th

Thomas Royde, pipe in mouth, was surveying the progress of his packing with which the deft-fingered Malayan No. 1 boy was busy. Occasionally his glance shifted to the view over the plantations. For some six months he would not see that view which had been so familiar for the past seven years.

It would be queer to be in England again.

Allen Drake, his partner, looked in.

âHullo, Thomas, how goes it?â

âAll set now.â

âCome and have a drink, you lucky devil. Iâm consumed with envy.â

Thomas Royde moved slowly out of the bedroom and joined his friend. He did not speak, for Thomas Royde was a man singularly economical of words. His friends had learned to gauge his reactions correctly from the quality of his silences.

A rather thickset figure, with a straight solemn face and observant thoughtful eyes, he walked a little sideways, crablike. This, the result of being jammed in a door during an earthquake, had contributed toward his nickname of the Hermit Crab. It had left his right arm and shoulder partially helpless which, added to an artificial stiffness of gait, often led people to think he was feeling shy and awkward when in reality he seldom felt anything of the kind.

Allen Drake mixed the drinks.

âWell,â he said. âGood hunting!â

Royde said something that sounded like âAh hum.â

Drake looked at him curiously.

âPhlegmatic as ever,â he remarked. âDonât know how you manage it. How long is it since you went home?â

âSeven yearsânearer eight.â

âItâs a long time. Wonder you havenât gone completely native.â

âPerhaps I have.â

âYou always did belong to Our Dumb Friends rather than to the human race! Planned out your leave?â

âWellâyesâpartly.â

The bronze impassive face took a sudden and a deeper brick red tinge.

Allen Drake said with lively astonishment:

âI believe thereâs a girl! Damn it all, you are blushing!â

Thomas Royde said rather huskily: âDonât be a fool!â

And he drew very hard on his ancient pipe.

He broke all previous records by continuing the conversation himself.

âDare say,â he said, âI shall find things a bit changed.â

Allen Drake said curiously:

âIâve always wondered why you chucked going home last time. Right at the last minute, too.â

Royde shrugged his shoulders.

âThought that shooting trip might be interesting. Bad news from home about then.â

âOf course. I forgot. Your brother was killedâin that motoring accident.â

Thomas Royde nodded.

Drake reflected that, all the same, it seemed a curious reason for putting off a journey home. There was a motherâhe believed a sister also. Surely at such a timeâthen he remembered something. Thomas had cancelled his passage before the news of his brotherâs death arrived.

Allen looked at his friend curiously. Dark horse, old Thomas!

After a lapse of three years he could ask:

âYou and your brother great pals?â

âAdrian and I? Not particularly. Each of us always went his own way. He was a barrister.â

âYes,â thought Drake, âa very different life. Chambers in London, partiesâa living earned by the shrewd use of the tongue.â He reflected that Adrian Royde must have been a very different chap from old Silent Thomas.

âYour motherâs alive, isnât she?â

âThe mater? Yes.â

âAnd youâve got a sister, too.â

Thomas shook his head.

âOh, I thought you had. In that snapshotââ

Royde mumbled, âNot a sister. Sort of distant cousin or something. Brought up with us because she was an orphan.â

Once more a slow tide of colour suffused the bronzed skin.

Drake thought, âHulloâoâ?â

He said: âIs she married?â

âShe was. Married that fellow Nevile Strange.â

âFellow who plays tennis and racquets and all that?â

âYes. She divorced him.â

âAnd youâre going home to try your luck with her,â thought Drake.

Mercifully he changed the subject of the conversation.

âGoing to get any fishing or shooting?â

âShall go home first. Then I thought of doing a bit of sailing down at Saltcreek.â

âI know it. Attractive little place. Rather a decent old-fashioned Hotel there.â

âYes. The Balmoral Court. May stay there, or may put up with friends whoâve got a house there.â

âSounds all right to me.â

âAh hum. Nice peaceful place, Saltcreek. Nobody to hustle you.â

âI know,â said Drake. âThe kind of place where nothing ever happens.â

May 29th

âIt is really most annoying,â said old Mr. Treves. âFor twenty-five years now I have been to the Marine Hotel at Leaheadâand now, would you believe it, the whole place is being pulled down. Widening the front or some nonsense of that kind. Why they canât let these seaside places aloneâLeahead always had a peculiar charm of its ownâRegencyâpure Regency.â

Rufus Lord said consolingly:

âStill, there are other places to stay there, I suppose?â

âI really donât feel I can go to Leahead at all. At the Marine, Mrs. Mackay understood my requirements perfectly. I had the same rooms every yearâand there was hardly ever a change in the service. And the cooking was excellentâquite excellent.â

âWhat about trying Saltcreek? Thereâs rather a nice old-fashioned Hotel there. The Balmoral Court. Tell you who keeps it. Couple of the name of Rogers. She used to be cook to old Lord Mountheadâhe had the best dinners in London. She married the butler and they run this hotel now. It sounds to me just your kind of place. Quietânone of these jazz bandsâand first-class cooking and service.â

âItâs an ideaâitâs certainly an idea. Is there a sheltered terrace?â

âYesâa covered-in veranda and a terrace beyond. You can get sun or shade as you prefer. I can give you some introductions in the neighbourhood, too, if you like. Thereâs old Lady Tressilianâshe lives almost next door. A charming house and she herself is a delightful woman in spite of being very much of an invalid.â

âThe judgeâs widow, do you mean?â

âThatâs it.â

âI used to know Matthew Tressilian, and I think Iâve met her. A charming womanâthough, of course, thatâs a long time ago. Saltcreek is near St. Loo, isnât it? Iâve several friends in that part of the world. Do you know, I really think Saltcreek is a very good idea. I shall write and get particulars. The middle of August is when I wish to go thereâthe middle of August to the middle of September. There is a garage for the car, I suppose? And my chauffeur?â

âOh yes. Itâs thoroughly up-to-date.â

âBecause, as you know, I have to be careful about walking uphill. I should prefer rooms on the ground floor, though I suppose there is a lift.â

âOh yes, all that sort of thing.â

âIt sounds,â said Mr. Treves, âas though it would solve my problem perfectly. And I should enjoy renewing my acquaintance with Lady Tressilian.â

July 28th

Kay Strange, dressed in shorts, and a canary-coloured woolly, was leaning forward watching the tennis players. It was the semifinal of the St. Loo tournament, menâs singles, and Nevile was playing young Merrick, who was regarded as the coming star in the tennis firmament. His brilliance was undeniableâsome of his serves quite unreturnableâbut he occasionally struck a wild patch when the older manâs experience and court crafts won the day.

The score was three all in the final set.

Slipping on to a seat next to Kay, Ted Latimer observed in a lazy ironic voice:

âDevoted wife watches her husband slash his way to victory!â

Kay started.

âHow you startled me. I didnât know you were there.â

âI am always there. You should know that by this time.â

Ted Latimer was twenty-five and extremely good-lookingâeven though unsympathetic old colonels were wont to say of him:

âTouch of the Dago!â

He was dark and beautifully sunburnt and a wonderful dancer.

His dark eyes could be very eloquent, and he managed his voice with the assurance of an actor. Kay had known him since she was fifteen. They had oiled and sunned themselves at Juan les Pins, had danced together and played tennis together. They had been not only friends but allies.

Young Merrick was serving from the left-hand court. Nevileâs return was unplayable, a superb shot to the extreme corner.

âNevileâs backhand is good,â said Ted. âItâs better than his forehand. Merrickâs weak on the backhand and Nevile knows it. Heâs going to pound at it all he knows how.â

The game ended. âFour threeâStrange leads.â

He took the next game on his service. Young Merrick was hitting out wildly.

âFive three.â

âGood for Nevile,â said Latimer.

And then the boy pulled himself together. His play became cautious. He varied the pace of his shots.

âHeâs got a head on him,â said Ted. âAnd his footwork is first-class. Itâs going to be a fight.â

Slowly the boy pulled up to five all. They went to seven all, and Merrick finally won the match at nine seven.

Nevile came up to the net, grinning and shaking his head ruefully, to shake hands.

âYouth tells,â said Ted Latimer. âNineteen against thirty-three. But I can tell you the reason, Kay, why Nevile has never been actual championship class. Heâs too good a loser.â

âNonsense.â

âIt isnât. Nevile, blast him, is always the complete good sportsman. Iâve never seen him lose his temper over losing a match.â

âOf course not,â said Kay. âPeople donât.â

âOh yes, they do! Weâve all seen them. Tennis stars who give way to nervesâand who damnâ well snatch every advantage. But old Nevileâheâs always ready to take the count and grin. Let the best man win and all that. God, how I hate the public school spirit! Thank the lord I never went to one.â

Kay turned her head.

âBeing rather spiteful, arenât you?â

âPositively feline!â

âI wish you wouldnât make it so clear you donât like Nevile.â

âWhy should I like him? He pinched my girl.â

His eyes lingered on her.

âI wasnât your girl. Circumstances forbade.â

âQuite so. Not even the proverbial tuppence a year between us.â

âShut up. I fell in love with Nevile and married himââ

âAnd heâs a jolly good fellowâand so say all of us!â

âAre you trying to annoy me?â

She turned her head as she asked the question. He smiledâand presently she returned his smile.

âHowâs the summer going, Kay?â

âSo, so. Lovely yachting trip. Iâm rather tired of all this tennis business.â

âHow long have you got of it? Another month?â

âYes. Then in September we go to Gullâs Point for a fortnight.â

âI shall be at the Easterhead Bay Hotel,â said Ted. âIâve booked my room.â

âItâs going to be a lovely party!â said Kay. âNevile and I, and Nevileâs Ex, and some Malayan planter whoâs home on leave.â

âThat does sound hilarious!â

âAnd the dowdy cousin, of course. Slaving away round that unpleasant old womanâand she wonât get anything for it, either, since the money comes to me and Nevile.â

âPerhaps,â said Ted, âshe doesnât know that?â

âThat would be rather funny,â said Kay.

But she spoke absently. She stared down at the racquet she was twiddling in her hands. She caught her breath suddenly.

âOh Ted!â

âWhatâs the matter, sugar?â

âI donât know. Itâs just sometimes I getâI get cold feet! I get scared and feel queer.â

âThat doesnât sound like you, Kay.â

âIt doesnât, does it? Anyway,â she smiled rather uncertainly, âyouâll be at the Easterhead Bay Hotel.â

âAll according to plan.â

When Kay met Nevile outside the changing rooms, he said:

âI see the boy friendâs arrived.â

âTed?â

âYes, the faithful dogâor faithful lizard might be more apt.â

âYou donât like him, do you?â

âOh, I donât mind him. If it amuses you to pull him around on a stringââ

He shrugged his shoulders.

Kay said:

âI believe youâre jealous.â

âOf Latimer?â His surprise was genuine.

Kay said:

âTedâs supposed to be very attractive.â

âIâm sure he is. He has that lithe South American charm.â

âYou are jealous.â

Nevile gave her arm a friendly squeeze.

âNo, Iâm not, Gorgeous. You can have your tame adorersâa whole court of them if you like. Iâm the man in possession, and possession is nine points of the law.â

âYouâre very sure of yourself,â said Kay with a slight pout.

âOf course. You and I are Fate. Fate let us meet. Fate brought us together. Do you remember when we met at Cannes and I was going on to Estoril and suddenly, when I got there, the first person I met was lovely Kay! I knew then that it was Fateâand that I couldnât escape.â

âIt wasnât exactly Fate,â Kay said. âIt was me!â

âWhat do you mean by âit was me?ââ

âBecause it was! You see, I heard you say at Cannes you were going to Estoril, so I set to work on Mums and got her all worked upâand thatâs why the first person you saw when you got there was Kay.â

Nevile looked at her with a rather curious expression. He said slowly: âYou never told me that before.â

âNo, because it wouldnât have been good for you. It might have made you conceited! But I always have been good at planning. Things donât happen unless you make them! You call me a nitwit sometimesâbut in my own way Iâm quite clever. I make things happen. Sometimes I have to plan a long way beforehand.â

âThe brainwork must be intense.â

âItâs all very well to laugh.â

Nevile said with a sudden curious bitterness:

âAm I just beginning to understand the woman Iâve married? For Fateâread Kay!â

Kay said:

âYouâre not cross, are you, Nevile?â

He said rather absently:

âNoâno, of course not. I was justâthinkingâ¦.â

August 10th

Lord Cornelly, that rich and eccentric peer, was sitting at the monumental desk which was his especial pride and pleasure. It had been designed for him at immense expense and the whole furnishing of the room was subordinated to it. The effect was terrific and only slightly marred by the unavoidable addition of Lord Cornelly himself, an insignificant and rotund little man completely dwarfed by the deskâs magnificence.

Into this scene of City splendour there entered a blonde secretary, also in harmony with the luxury furnishings.

Gliding silently across the floor, she laid a slip of paper before the great man.

Lord Cornelly peered down at it.

âMacWhirter? MacWhirter? Whoâs he? Never heard of him. Has he got an appointment?â

The blonde secretary indicated that such was the case.

âMacWhirter, eh? Oh! MacWhirter! That fellow! Of course! Send him in. Send him in at once.â

Lord Cornelly chuckled gleefully. He was in high good-humour.

Throwing himself back in his chair, he stared up into the dour unsmiling face of the man he had summoned to an interview.

âYouâre MacWhirter, eh? Angus MacWhirter?â

âThatâs my name.â

MacWhirter spoke stiffly, standing erect and unsmiling.

âYou were with Herbert Clay? Thatâs right, isnât it?â

âYes.â

Lord Cornelly began to chuckle again.

âI know all about you. Clay got his driving licence endorsed, all because you wouldnât back him up and swear he was going at twenty miles an hour! Livid about it he was!â The chuckle increased. âTold us all about it in the Savoy Grill. âThat damned pig-headed Scot!â Thatâs what he said! Went on and on. Dâyou know what I was thinking?â

âIâve not the least idea.â

MacWhirterâs tone was repressive. Lord Cornelly took no notice. He was enjoying his remembrance of his own reactions.

âI thought to myself: âThatâs the kind of chap I could do with! Man who canât be bribed to tell lies.â You wonât have to tell lies for me. I donât do my business that way. I go about the world looking for honest menâand there are damned few of them!â

The little peer cackled with shrill laughter, his shrewd monkeylike face wrinkled with mirth. MacWhirter stood solidly, not amused.

Lord Cornelly stopped laughing. His face became shrewd, alert.

âIf you want a job MacWhirter, Iâve got one for you.â

âI could do with a job,â said MacWhirter.

âItâs an important job. Itâs a job that can only be given to a man with good qualificationsâyouâve got those all rightâIâve been into thatâand to a man who can be trustedâabsolutely.â

Lord Cornelly waited. MacWhirter did not speak.

âWell, man, can I depend upon you absolutely?â

MacWhirter said dryly:

âYouâll not know that from hearing me answer that of course you can.â

Lord Cornelly laughed.

âYouâll do. Youâre the man Iâve been looking for. Do you know South America at all?â

He went into details. Half an hour later MacWhirter stood on the pavement, a man who had landed an interesting and extremely well-paid jobâand a job that promised a future.

Fate, after having frowned, had chosen to smile upon him. But he was in no mood to smile back. There was no exultation in him, though his sense of humour was grimly tickled when he thought back over the interview. There was a stern poetic justice in the fact that it was his former employerâs diatribes against him that had actually got him his present advancement!

He was a fortunate man, he supposed. Not that he cared! He was willing to address himself to the task of living, not with enthusiasm, not even with pleasure, but in a methodical day after day spirit. Seven months ago, he had attempted to take his own life; chance, and nothing but chance, had intervened, but he was not particularly grateful. True, he felt no present disposition to do away with himself. That phase was over for good. You could not, he admitted, take your life in cold blood. There had to be some extra fillip of despair, of grief, of desperation or of passion. You could not commit suicide merely because you felt that life was a dreary round of uninteresting happenings.

On the whole he was glad that his work would take him out of England. He was to sail for South America the end of September. The next few weeks would be busy getting together certain equipment and being put in touch with the somewhat complicated ramifications of the business.

But there would be a weekâs leisure before he left the country. He wondered what he should do with that week? Stay in London? Go away?

An idea stirred nebulously in his brain.

Saltcreek?

âIâve a damned good mind to go down there,â said MacWhirter to himself.

It would be, he thought, grimly amusing.

August 19th

âAnd bang goes my holiday,â said Superintendent Battle disgustedly.

Mrs. Battle was disappointed, but long years as the wife of a police officer had prepared her to take disappointments philosophically.

âOh well,â she said, âit canât be helped. And I suppose it is an interesting case?â

âNot so that youâd notice it,â said Superintendent Battle. âItâs got the Foreign Office in a twitterâall those tall thin young men rushing about and saying Hush Hush here, there and everywhere. Itâll straighten out easy enoughâand we shall save everybodyâs face. But itâs not the kind of case Iâd put in my Memoirs, supposing I was ever foolish enough to write any.â

âWe could put our holiday off, I supposeââ began Mrs. Battle doubtfully, but her husband interrupted her decisively.

âNot a bit of it. You and the girls go off to Britlingtonâthe rooms have been booked since Marchâpity to waste them. I tell you what Iâll doâgo down and spend a week with Jim when this blows over.â

Jim was Superintendent Battleâs nephew, Inspector James Leach.

âSaltingtonâs quite close to Easterhead Bay and Saltcreek,â he went on. âI can get a bit of sea air and a dip in the briny.â

Mrs. Battle sniffed.

âMore likely heâll rope you in to help him over a case!â

âThey donât have any cases this time of the yearâunless itâs a woman who pinches a few sixpennyworths from Woolworthâs. And anyway Jimâs all rightâhe doesnât need his wits sharpening for him.â

âOh well,â said Mrs. Battle. âI suppose it will work out all right, but it is disappointing.â

âThese things are sent to try us,â Superintendent Battle assured her.

SNOW WHITE AND RED ROSE

I

Thomas Royde found Mary Aldin waiting for him on the platform at Saltington when he got out of the train.

He had only a dim recollection of her, and now that he saw her again he was rather surprisedly aware of pleasure in her brisk capable way of dealing with things.

She called him by his Christian name.

âHow nice to see you, Thomas. After all these years.â

âNice of you to put me up. Hope it isnât a bother.â

âNot at all. On the contrary. Youâll be particularly welcome. Is that your porter? Tell him to bring the things out this way. Iâve got the car right at the end.â

The bags were stowed in the Ford. Mary took the wheel and Royde got in beside her. They drove off and Thomas noticed that she was a good driver, deft and careful in traffic and with a nice judgement of distance and spaces.

Saltington was seven miles from Saltcreek. Once they were out of the small market town and on the open road, Mary Aldin reopened the subject of his visit.

âReally, Thomas, your visit just now is going to be a godsend. Things are rather difficultâand a strangerâor partial stranger is just what is needed.â

âWhatâs the trouble?â

His manner, as always, was incuriousâalmost lazy. He asked the question, it seemed, more from politeness than because he had any desire for the information. It was a manner particularly soothing to Mary Aldin. She wanted badly to talk to someoneâbut she much preferred to talk to someone who was not too much interested.

She said:

âWellâweâve got rather a difficult situation. Audrey is here, as you probably know?â

She paused questioningly and Thomas Royde nodded.

âAnd Nevile and his wife also.â

Thomas Roydeâs eyebrows went up. He said after a minute or two: âBit awkwardâwhat?â

âYes it is. It was Nevileâs idea.â

She paused. Royde did not speak, but as though aware of some current of disbelief issuing from him, she repeated assertively: âIt was Nevileâs idea.â

âWhy?â

She raised her hands for a moment from the steering wheel.

âOh, some modern reaction! All sensible and friends together. That idea. But I donât think, you know, itâs working very well.â

âPossibly it mightnât.â He added, âWhatâs the new wife like?â

âKay? Good-looking, of course. Really very good-looking. And quite young.â

âAnd Nevileâs keen on her?â

âOh yes. Of course theyâve only been married a year.â

Thomas Royde turned his head slowly to look at her. His mouth smiled a little. Mary said hastily:

âI didnât mean that exactly.â

âCome now, Mary. I think you did.â

âWell, one canât help seeing that theyâve really got very little in common. Their friends, for instanceââ She came to a stop.

Royde asked:

âHe met her, didnât he, on the Riviera? I donât know much about it. Only just the bare facts that the mater wrote.â

âYes, they met first at Cannes. Nevile was attracted, but I should imagine heâd been attracted beforeâin a harmless sort of way. I still think myself that if heâd been left to himself nothing would have come of it. He was fond of Audrey, you know.â

Thomas nodded.

Mary went on:

âI donât think he wanted to break up his marriageâIâm sure he didnât. But the girl was absolutely determined. She wouldnât rest until sheâd got him to leave his wifeâand whatâs a man to do in those circumstances? It flatters him, of course.â

âHead over heels in love with him, was she?â

âI suppose it may have been that.â

Maryâs tone sounded doubtful. She met his inquiring glance with a flush.

âWhat a cat I am! Thereâs a young man always hanging aboutâgood-looking in a gigolo kind of wayâan old friend of hersâand I canât help wondering sometimes whether the fact that Nevile is very well off and distinguished and all that didnât have something to do with it. The girl hadnât a penny of her own, I gather.â

She paused, looking rather ashamed. Thomas Royde merely said: âUh hum,â in a speculative voice.

âHowever,â said Mary, âthatâs probably plain cat! The girl is what one would call glamorousâand that probably rouses the feline instincts of middle-aged spinsters.â

Royde looked thoughtfully at her, but his poker face showed no recognizable reaction. He said, after a minute or two:

âBut what, exactly, is the present trouble about?â

âReally, you know, I havenât the least idea! Thatâs whatâs so odd. Naturally we consulted Audrey firstâand she seemed to have no feeling against meeting Kayâshe was charming about it all. She has been charming. No one could have been nicer. Audrey, of course, in everything she does is always just right. Her manner to them both is perfect. Sheâs very reserved, as you know, and one never has any idea of what she is really thinking or feelingâbut honestly I donât believe she minds at all.â

âNo reason why she should,â said Thomas Royde. He added, rather belatedly, âAfter all, itâs three years ago.â

âDo people like Audrey forget? She was very fond of Nevile.â

Thomas Royde shifted in his seat.

âSheâs only thirty-two. Got her life in front of her.â

âOh, I know. But she did take it hard. She had quite a bad nervous breakdown, you know.â

âI know. The mater wrote me.â

âIn a way,â said Mary, âI think it was good for your mother to have Audrey to look after. It took her mind off her own griefâabout your brotherâs death. We were so sorry about that.â

âYes. Poor old Adrian. Always did drive too fast.â

There was a pause. Mary stretched out her hand as a sign she was taking the turn that led down the hill to Saltcreek.

Presently, as they were slipping down the narrow twisting road, she said:

âThomasâyou know Audrey very well?â

âSo so. Havenât seen much of her for the last ten years.â

âNo, but you knew her as a child. She was like a sister to you and Adrian?â

He nodded.

âWas sheâwas she at all unbalanced in any way? Oh I donât mean that quite the way it sounds. But Iâve a feeling that there is something very wrong with her now. Sheâs so completely detached, her poise is so unnaturally perfectâbut I wonder sometimes what is going on behind the faÃ§ade. Iâve a feeling, now and then, of some really powerful emotion. And I donât quite know what it is! But I do feel that she isnât normal. Thereâs something! It worries me. I do know that thereâs an atmosphere in the house that affects everybody. Weâre all nervous and jumpy. But I donât know what it is. And sometimes, Thomas, it frightens me.â

âFrightens you?â His slow wondering tone made her pull herself together with a little nervous laugh.

âIt sounds absurdâ¦But thatâs what I meant just nowâyour arrival will be good for usâcreate a diversion. Ah, here we are.â

They had slipped round the last corner. Gullâs Point was built on a plateau of rock overlooking the river. On two sides it had sheer cliff going down to the water. The gardens and tennis court were on the left of the house. The garageâa modern afterthoughtâwas actually farther along the road, on the other side of it.

Mary said:

âIâll put the car away now and come back. Hurstall will look after you.â

Hurstall, the aged butler, was greeting Thomas with the pleasure of an old friend.

âVery glad to see you, Mr. Royde, after all these years. And so will her ladyship be. Youâre in the east room, sir. I think youâll find everyone in the garden, unless you want to go to your room first.â

Thomas shook his head. He went through the drawing room to the window which opened on to the terrace. He stood there for a moment, watching, unobserved himself.

Two women were the only occupants of the terrace. One was sitting on the corner of the balustrade looking out over the water. The other woman was watching her.

The first was Audreyâthe other, he knew, must be Kay Strange. Kay did not know she was being overlooked and she took no pains to disguise her expression. Thomas Royde was not, perhaps, a very observant man where women were concerned, but he could not fail to notice that Kay Strange disliked Audrey Strange very much.

As for Audrey, she was looking out across the river and seemed unconscious of, or indifferent to, the otherâs presence.

It was seven years since Thomas had seen Audrey Strange. He studied her now very carefully. Had she changed, and, if so, in what way?

There was a change, he decided. She was thinner, paler, altogether more ethereal-lookingâbut there was something else, something he could not quite define. It was as though she were holding herself tightly in leash, watchful over every movementâand yet all the time intensely aware of everything going on round her. She was like a person, he thought, who had a secret to hide. But what secret? He knew a little of the events that had befallen her in the last few years. He had been prepared for lines of sorrow and lossâbut this was something else. She was like a child who, by a tightly clenched hand over a treasureâcalls attention to what it wants to hide.

And then his eyes went to the other womanâthe girl who was now Nevile Strangeâs wife. Beautiful, yes. Mary Aldin had been right. He rather fancied dangerous, too. He thought: I wouldnât like to trust her near Audrey if she had a knife in her handâ¦.

And yet, why should she hate Nevileâs first wife? All that was over and done with. Audrey had no part or parcel in their lives nowadays. Footsteps rang out on the terrace as Nevile came round the corner of the house. He looked warm and was carrying a picture paper.

âHereâs the Illustrated Review,â he said. âCouldnât get the otherââ

Then two things happened at precisely the same minute.

Kay said: âOh good, give it to me,â and Audrey, without moving her head, held out her hand almost absentmindedly.

Nevile had stopped halfway between the two women. A dawn of embarrassment showed in his face. Before he could speak, Kay said, her voice rising with a slight note of hysteria, âI want it. Give it me! Give it me, Nevile!â

Audrey Strange started, turned her head, withdrew her hand and murmured with just the slightest air of confusion:

âOh sorry. I thought you were speaking to me, Nevile.â

Thomas Royde saw the colour come up brick red in Nevile Strangeâs neck. He took three quick steps forward and held out the picture paper to Audrey.

She said, hesitating, her air of embarrassment growing:

âOh, butââ

Kay pushed back her chair with a rough movement. She stood up, then, turning, she made for the drawing room window. Royde had no time to move before she had charged into him blindly.

The shock made her recoil; she looked at him as he apologized. He saw then why she had not seen him, her eyes were brimming with tearsâtears, he fancied, of anger.

âHullo,â she said. âWho are you? Oh, of course, the man from Malay!â

âYes,â said Thomas. âIâm the man from Malay.â

âI wish to God I was in Malay,â said Kay. âAnywhere but here! I loathe this beastly lousy house! I loathe everyone in it!â

Emotional scenes always alarmed Thomas. He regarded Kay warily and murmured nervously:

âAhâhum.â

âUnless theyâre very careful,â said Kay, âI shall kill someone! Either Nevile or that whey-faced cat out there!â

She brushed past him and went out of the room, banging the door.

Thomas Royde stood stock-still. He was not quite sure what to do next, but he was glad that young Mrs. Strange had gone. He stood and looked at the door that she had slammed so vigorously. Something of a tiger cat, the new Mrs. Strange.

The window was darkened as Nevile Strange paused in the space between the french doors. He was breathing rather fast.

He greeted Thomas vaguely.

âOhâerâhullo, Royde, didnât know youâd arrived. I say, have you seen my wife?â

âShe passed through about a minute ago,â said the other.

Nevile in his turn went out through the drawing room door. He was looking annoyed.

Thomas Royde went slowly through the open window. He was not a heavy walker. Not until he was a couple of yards away did Audrey turn her head.

Then he saw those wide-apart eyes open wider, saw her lips part. She slipped down from the wall and came towards him, hands outstretched.

âOh Thomas,â she said. âDear Thomas! How glad I am youâve come.â

As he took the two small white hands in his and bent down to her, Mary Aldin in her turn arrived at the french windows. Seeing the two on the terrace she checked herself, watched them for a moment or two, then slowly turned away and went back into the house.

II

Upstairs Nevile had found Kay in her bedroom. The only large double bedroom in the house was Lady Tressilianâs. A married couple was always given the two rooms with the communicating door and a small bathroom beyond on the west side of the house. It was a small isolated suite.

Nevile passed through his own room and on into his wifeâs. Kay had flung herself down on her bed. Raising a tearstained face, she cried angrily:

âSo youâve come! About time, too!â

âWhat is all this fuss about? Have you gone quite crazy, Kay?â

Nevile spoke quietly, but there was a dent at the corner of his nostril that registered restrained anger.

âWhy did you give that Illustrated Review to her and not to me?â

âReally, Kay, you are a child! All this fuss about a wretched little picture paper.â

âYou gave it to her and not to me,â repeated Kay obstinately.

âWell, why not? What does it matter?â

âIt matters to me.â

âI donât know whatâs wrong with you. You canât behave in this hysterical fashion when youâre staying in other peopleâs houses. Donât you know how to behave in public?â

âWhy did you give it to Audrey?â

âBecause she wanted it.â

âSo did I, and Iâm your wife.â

âAll the more reason, in that case, for giving it to an older woman and one who, technically, is no relation.â

âShe scored off me! She wanted to and she did. You were on her side!â

âYouâre talking like an idiotic jealous child. For goodnessâ sake, control yourself, and try to behave properly in public!â

âLike she does, I suppose?â

Nevile said coldly: âAt any rate Audrey can behave like a lady. She doesnât make an exhibition of herself.â

âSheâs turning you against me! She hates me and sheâs getting her revenge.â

âLook here, Kay, will you stop being melodramatic and completely foolish? Iâm fed up!â

âThen letâs go away from here! Letâs go tomorrow. I hate this place!â

âWeâve only been here four days.â

âItâs quite enough! Do letâs go, Nevile.â

âNow look here, Kay, Iâve had enough of this. We came here for a fortnight and Iâm going to stay for a fortnight.â

âIf you do,â said Kay, âyouâll be sorry. You and your Audrey! You think sheâs wonderful!â

âI donât think Audrey is wonderful. I think sheâs an extremely nice and kindly person whom Iâve treated very badly and who has been most generous and forgiving.â

âThatâs where youâre wrong,â said Kay. She got up from the bed. Her fury had died down. She spoke seriouslyâalmost soberly.

âAudrey hasnât forgiven you, Nevile. Once or twice Iâve seen her looking at youâ¦I donât know what is going on in her mind but something isâSheâs the kind that doesnât let anyone know what theyâre thinking.â

âItâs a pity,â said Nevile, âthat there arenât more people like that.â

Kayâs face went very white.

âDo you mean that for me?â There was a dangerous edge to her voice.

âWellâyou havenât shown much reticence, have you? Every bit of ill temper and spite that comes into your mind you blurt straight out. You make a fool of yourself and you make a fool of me!â

âAnything more to say?â

Her voice was icy.

He said in an equally cold tone:

âIâm sorry if you think that was unfair. But itâs the plain truth. Youâve no more self-control than a child.â

âYou never lose your temper, do you? Always the self-controlled charming-mannered little pukka sahib! I donât believe youâve got any feelings. Youâre just a fishâa damned cold-blooded fish! Why donât you let yourself go now and then? Why donât you shout at me, swear at me, tell me to go to Hell?â

Nevile sighed. His shoulders sagged.

âOh lord,â he said.

Turning on his heel he left the room.

III

âYou look exactly as you did at seventeen, Thomas Royde,â said Lady Tressilian. âJust the same owlish look. And no more conversation now than you had then. Why not?â

Thomas said vaguely,

âI dunno. Never had the gift of the gab.â

âNot like Adrian. Adrian was a very clever and witty talker.â

âPerhaps thatâs why. Always left the talking to him.â

âPoor Adrian. So much promise.â

Thomas nodded.

Lady Tressilian changed the subject. She was granting an audience to Thomas. She usually preferred her visitors one at a time. It did not tire her and she was able to concentrate her attention on them.

âYouâve been here twenty-four hours,â she said. âWhat do you think of our Situation?â

âSituation?â

âDonât look stupid. You do that deliberately. You know quite well what I mean. The eternal triangle which has established itself under my roof.â

Thomas said cautiously: âSeems a bit of friction.â

Lady Tressilian smiled rather diabolically.

âI will confess to you, Thomas, I am rather enjoying myself. This came about through no wish of mineâindeed I did my utmost to prevent it. Nevile was obstinate. He would insist on bringing these two togetherâand now he is reaping what he has sown!â

Thomas Royde shifted a little in his chair.

âSeems funny,â he said.

âElucidate,â snapped Lady Tressilian.

âShouldnât have thought Strange was that kind of chap.â

âItâs interesting your saying that. Because it is what I felt. It was uncharacteristic of Nevile. Nevile, like most men, is usually anxious to avoid any kind of embarrassment or possible unpleasantness. I suspected that it wasnât originally Nevileâs ideaâbut, if not, I donât see whose idea it can have been.â She paused and said with only the slightest upward inflection, âIt wouldnât be Audreyâs?â

Thomas said promptly, âNo, not Audrey.â

âAnd I can hardly believe it was that unfortunate young woman, Kayâs, idea. Not unless she is a remarkable actress. You know, I have almost felt sorry for her lately.â

âYou donât like her much, do you?â

âNo. She seems to me empty-headed and lacking in any kind of poise. But, as I say, I do begin to feel sorry for her. She is blundering about like a daddy longlegs in lamplight. She has no idea of what weapons to use. Bad temper, bad manners, childish rudenessâall things which have a most unfortunate effect upon a man like Nevile.â

Thomas said quietly:

âI think Audrey is the one who is in a difficult position.â

Lady Tressilian gave him a sharp glance.

âYouâve always been in love with Audrey, havenât you, Thomas?â

His reply was quite imperturbable. âSuppose I have.â

âPractically from the time you were children together?â

He nodded.

âAnd then Nevile came along and carried her off from under your nose?â

He moved uneasily in his chair.

âOh wellâI always knew I hadnât a chance.â

âDefeatist,â said Lady Tressilian.

âI always have been a dull dog.â

âDobbin!â

âGood old Thomas!âthatâs what Audrey feels about me.â

ââTrue Thomas,ââ said Lady Tressilian. âThat was your nickname, wasnât it?â

He smiled as the words brought back memories of childish days. âFunny! I havenât heard that for years.â

âIt might stand you in good stead now,â said Lady Tressilian.

She met his glance clearly and deliberately.

âFidelity,â she said, âis a quality that anyone who has been through Audreyâs experience might appreciate. The doglike devotion of a lifetime, Thomas, does sometimes get its reward.â

Thomas Royde looked down, his fingers fumbling with a pipe.

âThat,â he said, âis what I came home hoping.â

IV

âSo here we all are,â said Mary Aldin.

Hurstall, the old butler, wiped his forehead. When he went into the kitchen, Mrs. Spicer, the cook, remarked upon his expression.

âI donât think I can be well, and thatâs the truth,â said Hurstall. âIf I can so express myself, everything thatâs said and done in this house lately seems to me to mean something thatâs different from what it sounds likeâif you know what I mean?â

Mrs. Spicer did not seem to know what he meant, so Hurstall went on:

âMiss Aldin, now, as they all sat down to dinnerâshe says âSo here we all areââand just that gave me a turn! Made me think of a trainer whoâs got a lot of wild animals into a cage, and then the cage door shuts. I felt, all of a sudden, as though we were all caught in a trap.â

âLaw, Mr. Hurstall,â said Mrs. Spicer, âyou must have eaten something thatâs disagreed.â

âItâs not my digestion. Itâs the way everyoneâs strung up. The front door banged just now and Mrs. Strangeâour Mrs. Strange, Miss Audreyâshe jumped as though she had been shot. And thereâs the silences, too. Very queer they are. Itâs as though, all of a sudden, everybodyâs afraid to speak. And then they all break out at once just saying the things that first come into their heads.â

âEnough to make anyone embarrassed,â said Mrs. Spicer.

âTwo Mrs. Stranges in the house. What I feel is, it isnât decent.â

In the dining room, one of those silences that Hurstall had described was proceeding.

It was with quite an effort that Mary Aldin turned to Kay and said:

âI asked your friend, Mr. Latimer, to dine tomorrow night!â

âOh good,â said Kay.

Nevile said:

âLatimer? Is he down here?â

âHeâs staying at the Easterhead Bay Hotel,â said Kay.

Nevile said:

âWe might go over and dine there one night. How late does the ferry go?â

âUntil half past one,â said Mary.

âI suppose they dance there in the evenings?â

âMost of the people are about a hundred,â said Kay.

âNot very amusing for your friend,â said Nevile to Kay.

Mary said quickly:

âWe might go over and bathe one day at Easterhead Bay. Itâs quite warm still and itâs a lovely sandy beach.â

Thomas Royde said in a low voice to Audrey:

âI thought of going out sailing tomorrow. Will you come?â

âIâd like to.â

âWe might all go sailing,â said Nevile.

âI thought you said you were going to play golf,â said Kay.

âI did think of going over to the links. I was right off my wooden shots the other day.â

âWhat a tragedy!â said Kay.

Nevile said good-humouredly:

âGolfâs a tragic game.â

Mary asked Kay if she played.

âYesâafter a fashion.â

Nevile said:

âKay would be very good if she took a little trouble. Sheâs got a natural swing.â

Kay said to Audrey:

âYou donât play any games, do you?â

âNot really. I play tennis after a fashionâbut Iâm a complete rabbit.â

âDo you still play the piano, Audrey?â asked Thomas.

She shook her head.

âNot nowadays.â

âYou used to play rather well,â said Nevile.

âI thought you didnât like music, Nevile,â said Kay.

âI donât know much about it,â said Nevile vaguely. âI always wondered how Audrey managed to stretch an octave, her hands are so small.â

He was looking at them as she laid down her dessert knife and fork.

She flushed a little and said quickly:

âIâve got a very long little finger. I expect that helps.â

âYou must be selfish then,â said Kay. âIf youâre unselfish you have a short little finger.â

âIs that true?â asked Mary Aldin. âThen I must be unselfish. Look, my little fingers are quite short.â

âI think you are very unselfish,â said Thomas Royde, eyeing her thoughtfully.

She went redâand continued, quickly.

âWhoâs the most unselfish of us? Letâs compare little fingers. Mine are shorter than yours, Kay. But Thomas, I think, beats me.â

âI beat you both,â said Nevile. âLook,â he stretched out a hand.

âOnly one hand, though,â said Kay. âYour left hand little finger is short but your right hand one is much longer. And your left hand is what you are born with and the right hand is what you make of your life. So that means that you were born unselfish but have become more selfish as time goes on.â

âCan you tell fortunes, Kay?â asked Mary Aldin. She stretched out her hand, palm upward. âA fortune-teller told me I should have two husbands and three children. I shall have to hurry up!â

Kay said:

âThose little crosses arenât children, theyâre journeys. That means youâll take three journeys across water.â

âThat seems unlikely too,â said Mary Aldin.

Thomas Royde asked her: âHave you travelled much?â

âNo, hardly at all.â

He heard an undercurrent of regret in her voice.

âYou would like to?â

âAbove everything.â

He thought in his slow reflective way of her life. Always in attendance on an old woman. Calm, tactful, an excellent manager. He asked curiously:

âHave you lived with Lady Tressilian long?â

âFor nearly fifteen years. I came to be with her after my father died. He had been a helpless invalid for some years before his death.â

And then, answering the question she felt to be in his mind:

âIâm thirty-six. Thatâs what you wanted to know, wasnât it?â

âI did wonder,â he admitted. âYou might beâany age, you see.â

âThatâs rather a two-edged remark!â

âI suppose it is. I didnât mean it that way.â

That sombre thoughtful gaze of his did not leave her face. She did not find it embarrassing. It was too free from self-consciousness for thatâa genuine thoughtful interest. Seeing his eyes on her hair, she put up her hand to the one white lock.

âIâve had that,â she said, âsince I was very young.â

âI like it,â said Thomas Royde simply.

He went on looking at her. She said at last, in a slightly amused tone of voice:

âWell, what is the verdict?â

He reddened under his tan.

âOh, I suppose it is rude of me to stare. I was wondering about youâwhat you are really like.â

âPlease,â she said hurriedly and rose from the table. She said as she went into the drawing room with her arm through Audreyâs:

âOld Mr. Treves is coming to dinner tomorrow, too.â

âWhoâs he?â asked Nevile.

âHe brought an introduction from the Rufus Lords. A delightful old gentleman. Heâs staying at the Balmoral Court. Heâs got a weak heart and looks very frail, but his faculties are perfect and he has known a lot of interesting people. He was a solicitor or a barristerâI forget which.â

âEverybody down here is terribly old,â said Kay discontentedly.

She was standing just under a tall lamp. Thomas was looking that way, and he gave her that same slow interested attention that he gave to anything that was immediately occupying his line of vision.

He was struck suddenly with her intense and passionate beauty. A beauty of vivid colouring, of abundant and triumphant vitality. He looked across from her to Audrey, pale and mothlike in a silvery grey dress.

He smiled to himself and murmured:

âRed Rose and Snow White.â

âWhat?â It was Mary Aldin at his elbow.

He repeated the words. âLike the old fairy story, you knowââ

Mary Aldin said: âItâs a very good descriptionâ¦.â

V

Mr. Treves sipped his glass of port appreciatively. A very nice wine. And an excellently cooked and served dinner. Clearly Lady Tressilian had no difficulties with her servants.

The house was well managed, too, in spite of the mistress of it being an invalid.

A pity, perhaps, that the ladies did not leave the dining room when the port went round. He preferred the old-fashioned routine. But these young people had their own ways.

His eyes rested thoughtfully on that brilliant and beautiful young woman who was the wife of Nevile Strange.

It was Kayâs night tonight. Her vivid beauty glowed and shone in the candlelit room. Beside her, Ted Latimerâs sleek dark head bent to hers. He was playing up to her. She felt triumphant and sure of herself.

The mere sight of such radiant vitality warmed Mr. Trevesâ old bones.

Youthâthere was really nothing like youth!

No wonder the husband had lost his head and left his first wife. Audrey was sitting next to him. A charming creature and a ladyâbut then that was the kind of woman who invariably did get left, in Mr. Trevesâ experience.

He glanced at her. Her head had been down and she was staring at her plate. Something in the complete immobility of her attitude struck Mr. Treves. He looked at her more keenly. He wondered what she was thinking about. Charming the way the hair sprang up from that small shell-like earâ¦.

With a little start, Mr. Treves came to himself as he realized that a move was being made. He got hurriedly to his feet.

In the drawing room, Kay Strange went straight to the gramophone and put on a record of dance music.

Mary Aldin said apologetically to Mr. Treves:

âIâm sure you hate jazz.â

âNot at all,â said Mr. Treves, untruly but politely.

âLater, perhaps, we might have some bridge?â she suggested. âBut it is no good starting a rubber now, as I know Lady Tressilian is looking forward to having a chat with you.â

âThat will be delightful. Lady Tressilian never joins you down here?â

âNo, she used to come down in an invalid chair. That is why we had a lift put in. But nowadays she prefers her own room. There she can talk to whomsoever she likes, summoning them by a kind of Royal Command.â

âVery aptly put, Miss Aldin. I am always sensible of the Royal touch in Lady Tressilianâs manner.â

In the middle of the room Kay was moving in a slow dance step.

She said: âJust take that table out of the way, Nevile.â

Her voice was autocratic, assured. Her eyes were shining, her lips parted.

Nevile obediently moved the table. Then he took a step towards her, but she turned deliberately towards Ted Latimer.

âCome on, Ted, letâs dance.â

Tedâs arm went round her immediately. They danced, swaying, bending, their steps perfectly together. It was a lovely performance to watch.

Mr. Treves murmured:

âErâquite professional.â

Mary Aldin winced slightly at the wordâyet surely Mr. Treves had spoken in simple admiration. She looked at his little wise nut-cracker face. It bore, she thought, an absentminded look as though he were following some train of thought of his own.

Nevile stood hesitating a moment, then he walked to where Audrey was standing by the window.

âDance, Audrey?â

His tone was formal, almost cold. Mere politeness, you might have said, inspired his request. Audrey Strange hesitated a minute before nodding her head and taking a step towards him.

Mary Aldin made some commonplace remarks to which Mr. Treves did not reply. He had so far shown no signs of deafness and his courtesy was punctiliousâshe realized that it was absorption that held him aloof. She could not quite make out if he was watching the dancers, or was staring across the room at Thomas Royde, standing alone at the other end.

With a little start Mr. Treves said:

âExcuse me, my dear lady, you were saying?â

âNothing. Only that it was an unusually fine September.â

âYes, indeedârain is badly needed locally, so they tell me at my hotel.â

âYou are comfortable there, I hope?â

âOh yes, though I must say I was vexed when I arrived to findââ

Mr. Treves broke off.

Audrey had disengaged herself from Nevile. She said with an apologetic little laugh:

âItâs really too hot to dance.â

She went towards the open window and out on to the terrace.

âOh! go after her, you fool,â murmured Mary. She meant the remark to be under her breath, but it was loud enough for Mr. Treves to turn and stare at her in astonishment.

She reddened and gave an embarrassed laugh.

âIâm speaking my thoughts aloud,â she said ruefully. âBut really he does irritate me so. Heâs so slow.â

âMr. Strange?â

âOh no, not Nevile. Thomas Royde.â

Thomas Royde was just preparing to move forward, but by now Nevile, after a momentâs pause, had followed Audrey out of the window.

For a moment Mr. Trevesâ eye, interestedly speculative, rested on the window, then his irritation returned to the dancers.

âA beautiful dancer, young Mr.âLatimer, did you say the name was?â

âYes. Edward Latimer.â

âAh yes, Edward Latimer. An old friend, I gather, of Mrs. Strange?â

âYes.â

âAnd what does this veryâerâdecorative young gentleman do for a living?â

âWell, really, I donât quite know.â

âIndeed,â said Mr. Treves, managing to put a good deal of comprehension into one harmless word.

Mary went on:

âHe is staying at the Easterhead Bay Hotel.â

âA very pleasant situation,â said Mr. Treves.

He added dreamily after a moment or two: âRather an interesting shaped headâa curious angle from the crown to the neckârendered less noticeable by the way he has his hair cut, but distinctly unusual.â After another pause, he went on still more dreamily: âThe last man I saw with a head like that got ten yearsâ penal servitude for a brutal assault on an elderly jeweller.â

âSurely,â exclaimed Mary, âyou donât meanâ?â

âNot at all, not at all,â said Mr. Treves. âYou mistake me entirely. I am suggesting no disparagement of a guest of yours. I was merely pointing out that a hardened and brutal criminal can be in appearance a most charming and personable young man. Odd, but so it is.â

He smiled gently at her. Mary said: âYou know, Mr. Treves, I think I am a little frightened of you.â

âNonsense, dear lady.â

âBut I am. You areâsuch a very shrewd observer.â

âMy eyes,â said Mr. Treves complacently, âare as good as ever they were.â He paused and added: âWhether that is fortunate or unfortunate, I cannot at the moment decide.â

âHow could it be unfortunate?â

Mr. Treves shook his head doubtfully.

âOne is sometimes placed in a position of responsibility. The right course of action is not always easy to determine.â

Hurstall entered bearing the coffee tray.

After taking it to Mary and the old lawyer, he went down the room to Thomas Royde. Then, by Maryâs directions, he put the tray down on a low table and left the room.

Kay called over Tedâs shoulder. âWeâll finish out this tune.â

Mary said: âIâll take Audreyâs out to her.â

She went to the french windows, cup in hand. Mr. Treves accompanied her. As she paused on the threshold he looked out over her shoulder.

Audrey was sitting on the corner of the balustrade. In the bright moonlight her beauty came to lifeâa beauty born of line rather than colour. The exquisite line from the jaw to the ear, the tender modelling of chin and mouth, and the really lovely bones of the head and the small straight nose. That beauty would be there when Audrey Strange was an old womanâit had nothing to do with the covering fleshâit was the bones themselves that were beautiful. The sequinned dress she wore accentuated the effect of the moonlight. She sat very still and Nevile Strange stood and looked at her.

Nevile took a step towards her.

âAudrey,â he said, âyouââ

She shifted her position, then sprang lightly to her feet and clapped a hand to her ear:

âOh! my earringâI must have dropped it.â

âWhere? Let me lookââ

They both bent down, awkward and embarrassedâand collided in doing so. Audrey sprang away. Nevile exclaimed:

âWait a secâmy cuff buttonâitâs caught in your hair. Stand still.â

She stood quite still as he fumbled with the button.

âOoâyouâre pulling it out by the rootsâhow clumsy you are, Nevile, do be quick.â

âSorry IâI seem to be all thumbs.â

The moonlight was bright enough for the two onlookers to see what Audrey could not see, the trembling of Nevileâs hands as he strove to free the strand of fair silvery hair.

But Audrey herself was trembling tooâas though suddenly cold.

Mary Aldin jumped as a quiet voice said behind her:

âExcuse meââ

Thomas Royde passed between them and out.

âShall I do that, Strange?â he asked.

Nevile straightened up and he and Audrey moved apart.

âItâs all right. Iâve done it.â

Nevileâs face was rather white.

âYouâre cold,â said Thomas to Audrey. âCome in and have coffee.â

She came back with him and Nevile turned away staring out to sea.

âI was bringing it out to you,â said Mary. âBut perhaps youâd better come in.â

âYes,â said Audrey, âI think Iâd better come in.â

They all went back into the drawing room. Ted and Kay had stopped dancing.

The door opened and a tall gaunt woman dressed in black came in. She said respectfully:

âHer ladyshipâs compliments and she would be glad to see Mr. Treves up in her room.â

VI

Lady Tressilian received Mr. Treves with evident pleasure.

He and she were soon deep in an agreeable flood of reminiscences and a recalling of mutual acquaintances.

At the end of half an hour Lady Tressilian gave a deep sigh of satisfaction.

âAh,â she said, âIâve enjoyed myself! Thereâs nothing like exchanging gossip and remembering old scandals.â

âA little malice,â agreed Mr. Treves, âadds a certain savour to life.â

âBy the way,â said Lady Tressilian, âwhat do you think of our example of the eternal triangle?â

Mr. Treves looked discreetly blank. âErâwhat triangle?â

âDonât tell me you havenât noticed it! Nevile and his wives.â

âOh that! The present Mrs. Strange is a singularly attractive young woman.â

âSo is Audrey,â said Lady Tressilian.

Mr. Treves admitted: âShe has charmâyes.â

Lady Tressilian exclaimed:

âDo you mean to tell me you can understand a man leaving Audrey, who is aâa person of rare qualityâforâfor a Kay?â

Mr. Treves replied calmly:

âPerfectly. It happens frequently.â

âDisgusting. I should soon grow tired of Kay if I were a man and wish I had never made such a fool of myself!â

âThat also happens frequently. These sudden passionate infatuations,â said Mr. Treves, looking very passionless and precise himself, âare seldom of long duration.â

âAnd then what happens?â demanded Lady Tressilian.

âUsually,â said Mr. Treves, âtheâerâparties adjust themselves. Quite often there is a second divorce. The man then marries a third partyâsomeone of a sympathetic nature.â

âNonsense! Nevile isnât a Mormonâwhatever some of your clients may be!â

âThe remarriage of the original parties occasionally takes place.â

Lady Tressilian shook her head.

âThat no! Audrey has too much pride.â

âYou think so?â

âI am sure of it. Do not shake your head in that aggravating fashion!â

âIt has been my experience,â said Mr. Treves, âthat women possess little or no pride where love affairs are concerned. Pride is a quality often on their lips, but not apparent in their actions.â

âYou donât understand Audrey. She was violently in love with Nevile. Too much so, perhaps. After he left her for this girl (though I donât blame him entirelyâthe girl pursued him everywhere, and you know what men are!) she never wanted to see him again.â

Mr. Treves coughed gently:

âAnd yet,â he said, âshe is here!â

âOh well,â said Lady Tressilian, annoyed. âI donât profess to understand these modern ideas. I imagine that Audrey is here just to show that she doesnât care, and that it doesnât matter!â

âVery likely,â Mr. Treves stroked his jaw. âShe can put it to herself that way, certainly.â

âYou mean,â said Lady Tressilian, âthat you think she is still hankering after Nevile and thatâoh no! I wonât believe such a thing!â

âIt could be,â said Mr. Treves.

âI wonât have it,â said Lady Tressilian. âI wonât have it in my house.â

âYou are already disturbed, are you not?â asked Mr. Treves shrewdly. âThere is tension. I have felt it in the atmosphere.â

âSo you feel it too?â said Lady Tressilian sharply.

âYes, I am puzzled, I must confess. The true feelings of the parties remain obscure, but in my opinion, there is gunpowder about. The explosion may come any minute.â

âStop talking like Guy Fawkes and tell me what to do,â said Lady Tressilian.

Mr. Treves held up his hands.

âReally, I am at a loss to know what to suggest. There is, I feel sure, a focal point. If we could isolate thatâbut there is so much that remains obscure.â

âI have no intention of asking Audrey to leave,â said Lady Tressilian. âAs far as my observation goes, she has behaved perfectly in a very difficult situation. She has been courteous, but aloof. I consider her conduct irreproachable.â

âOh quite,â said Mr. Treves. âQuite. But itâs having a most marked effect on young Nevile Strange all the same.â

âNevile,â said Lady Tressilian, âis not behaving well. I shall speak to him about it. But I couldnât turn him out of the house for a moment. Matthew regarded him as practically his adopted son.â

âI know.â

Lady Tressilian sighed. She said in a lowered voice:

âYou know that Matthew was drowned here?â

âYes.â

âSo many people have been surprised at my remaining here. Stupid of them. I have always felt Matthew near to me here. The whole house is full of him. I should feel lonely and strange anywhere else.â She paused, and went on. âI hoped at first that it might not be very long before I joined him. Especially when my health began to fail. But it seems I am one of these creaking gatesâthese perpetual invalids who never die.â She thumped her pillow angrily.

âIt doesnât please me, I can tell you! I always hoped that when my time came, it would come quicklyâthat I should meet Death face to faceânot feel him creeping along behind me, always at my shoulderâgradually forcing me to sink to one indignity after another of illness. Increased helplessnessâincreasing dependence on other people!â

âBut very devoted people, I am sure. You have a faithful maid?â

âBarrett? The one who brought you up. The comfort of my life! A grim old battleaxe, absolutely devoted. Sheâs been with me for years.â

âAnd you are lucky, I should say, in having Miss Aldin.â

âYou are right. I am lucky in having Mary.â

âShe is a relation?â

âA distant cousin. One of those selfless creatures whose lives are continually being sacrificed to those of other people. She looked after her fatherâa clever manâbut terribly exacting. When he died I begged her to make her home with me, and I have blessed the day she came to me. Youâve no idea what horrors most companions are. Futile boring creatures. Driving one mad with their inanity. They are companions because they are fit for nothing better. To have Mary, who is a well-read intelligent woman, is marvellous. She has really a first-class brainâa manâs brain. She has read widely and deeply and there is nothing she cannot discuss. And she is as clever domestically as she is intellectually. She runs the house perfectly and keeps the servants happyâshe eliminates all quarrels and jealousiesâI donât know how she does itâjust tact, I suppose.â

âShe has been with you long?â

âTwelve yearsâno, more than that. Thirteenâfourteenâsomething like that. She has been a great comfort.â

Mr. Treves nodded.

Lady Tressilian, watching him through half-closed lids, said suddenly:

âWhatâs the matter? Youâre worried about something?â

âA trifle,â said Mr. Treves. âA mere trifle. Your eyes are sharp.â

âI like studying people,â said Lady Tressilian. âI always knew at once if there was anything on Matthewâs mind.â She sighed and leaned back on her pillows. âI must say goodnight to you nowââit was a Queenâs dismissal, nothing discourteous about itââI am very tired. But it has been a great, great pleasure. Come and see me again soon.â

âYou may depend upon my taking advantage of those kind words. I only hope I have not talked too long.â

âOh no. I always tire very suddenly. Ring my bell for me, will you, before you go.â

Mr. Treves pulled gingerly at a large old-fashioned bellpull that ended in a huge tassel.

âQuite a survival,â he remarked.

âMy bell? Yes. No newfangled electric bells for me. Half the time theyâre out of order and you go on pressing away! This thing never fails. It rings in Barrettâs room upstairsâthe bell hangs over her bed. So thereâs never any delay in answering it. If there is I pull it again pretty quickly.â

As Mr. Treves went out of the room he heard the bell pulled a second time and heard the tinkle of it somewhere above his head. He looked up and noticed the wires that ran along the ceiling. Barrett came hurriedly down a flight of stairs and passed him, going to her mistress.

Mr. Treves went slowly downstairs, not troubling with the little lift on the downward journey. His face was drawn into a frown of uncertainty.

He found the whole party assembled in the drawing room, and Mary Aldin at once suggested bridge, but Mr. Treves refused politely on the plea that he must very shortly be starting home.

âMy hotel,â he said, âis old-fashioned. They do not expect anyone to be out after midnight.â

âItâs a long time from thatâonly half past ten,â said Nevile. âThey donât lock you out, I hope?â

âOh no. In fact I doubt if the door is locked at all at night. It is shut at nine oâclock but one has only to turn the handle and walk in. People seem very haphazard down here, but I suppose they are justified in trusting to the honesty of the local people.â

âCertainly no one locks their door in the daytime here,â said Mary. âOurs stands wide open all day longâbut we do lock it up at night.â

âWhatâs the Balmoral Court like?â asked Ted Latimer. It looks a queer high Victorian atrocity of a building.â

âIt lives up to its name,â said Mr. Treves. âAnd has good solid Victorian comfort. Good beds, good cookingâroomy, Victorian wardrobes. Immense baths with mahogany surrounds.â

âWerenât you saying you were annoyed about something at first?â asked Mary.

âAh yes. I had carefully reserved by letter two rooms on the ground floor. I have a weak heart, you know, and stairs are forbidden me. When I arrived I was vexed to find the rooms were not available. Instead I was allotted two rooms (very pleasant rooms, I must admit) on the top floor. I protested, but it seems that an old resident who had been going to Scotland this month was ill and had been unable to vacate the rooms.â

âMr. Lucan, I expect?â said Mary.

âI believe that is the name. Under the circumstances, I had to make the best of things. Fortunately there is a good automatic liftâso that I have really suffered no inconvenience.â

Kay said, âTed, why donât you come and stay at the Balmoral Court? Youâd be much more accessible.â

âOh, I donât think it looks my kind of place.â

âQuite right, Mr. Latimer,â said Mr. Treves. âIt would not be at all in your line of country.â

For some reason or other Ted Latimer flushed.

âI donât know what you mean by that,â he said.

Mary Aldin, sensing constraint, hurriedly made a remark about a newspaper sensation of the moment.

âI see theyâve detained a man in the Kentish Town trunk caseââ she said.

âItâs the second man theyâve detained,â said Nevile. âI hope theyâve got the right one this time.â

âThey may not be able to hold him even if he is,â said Mr. Treves.

âInsufficient evidence?â asked Royde.

âYes.â

âStill,â said Kay, âI suppose they always get the evidence in the end.â

âNot always, Mrs. Strange. Youâd be surprised if you knew how many of the people who have committed crimes are walking about the country free and unmolested.â

âBecause theyâve never been found out, you mean?â

âNot only that. There is a manââhe mentioned a celebrated case of two years backââthe police know who committed those child murdersâknow it without a shadow of doubtâbut they are powerless. That man has been given an alibi by two people, and though that alibi is false there is no proving it to be so. Therefore the murderer goes free.â

âHow dreadful,â said Mary.

Thomas Royde knocked out his pipe and said in his quiet reflective voice:

âThat confirms what I have always thoughtâthat there are times when one is justified in taking the law into oneâs own hands.â

âWhat do you mean, Mr. Royde?â

Thomas began to refill his pipe. He looked thoughtfully down at his hands as he spoke in jerky disconnected sentences.

âSuppose you knewâof a dirty piece of workâknew that the man who did it isnât accountable to existing lawsâthat heâs immune from punishment. Then I holdâthat one is justified in executing sentence oneself.â

Mr. Treves said warmly: âA most pernicious doctrine, Mr. Royde! Such an action would be quite unjustifiable!â

âDonât see it. Iâm assuming, you know, that the facts are provedâitâs just the law is powerless!â

âPrivate action is still not to be excused.â

Thomas smiledâa very gentle smile:

âI donât agree,â he said. âIf a man ought to have his neck wrung, I wouldnât mind taking the responsibility of wringing it for him!â

âAnd in turn would render yourself liable to the lawâs penalties!â

Still smiling, Thomas said: âIâd have to be careful, of courseâ¦In fact one would have to go in for a certain amount of low cunningâ¦.â

Audrey said in her clear voice:

âYouâd be found out, Thomas.â

âMatter of fact,â said Thomas, âI donât think I should.â

âI knew a case once,â began Mr. Treves, and stopped. He said apologetically: âCriminology is rather a hobby of mine, you know.â

âPlease go on,â said Kay.

âI have had a fairly wide experience of criminal cases,â said Mr. Treves. âOnly a few of them have held any real interest. Most murderers have been lamentably uninteresting and very shortsighted. However! I could tell you of one interesting example.â

âOh do,â said Kay. âI like murders.â

Mr. Treves spoke slowly, apparently choosing his words with great deliberation and care.

âThe case concerned a child. I will not mention the childâs age or sex. The facts were as follows: two children were playing with bows and arrows. One child sent an arrow through the other child in a vital spot and death resulted. There was an inquest, the surviving child was completely distraught and the accident was commiserated and sympathy expressed for the unhappy author of the deed.â He paused.

âWas that all?â asked Ted Latimer.

âThat was all. A regrettable accident. But there is, you see, another side to the story. A farmer, some time previously, happened to have passed up a certain path in a wood nearby. There, in a little clearing, he had noticed a child practising with a bow and arrow.â

He pausedâto let his meaning sink in.

âYou mean,â said Mary Aldin incredulously, âthat it was not an accidentâthat it was intentional?â

âI donât know,â said Mr. Treves. âI have never known. But it was stated at the inquest that the children were unused to bows and arrows and in consequence shot wildly and ignorantly.â

âAnd that was not so?â

âThat, in the case of one of the children, was certainly not so!â

âWhat did the farmer do?â said Audrey breathlessly.

âHe did nothing. Whether he acted rightly or not, I have never been sure. It was the future of a child that was at stake. A child, he felt, ought to be given the benefit of a doubt.â

Audrey said:

âBut you yourself have no doubt about what really happened?â

Mr. Treves said gravely:

âPersonally, I am of the opinion that it was a particularly ingenious murderâa murder committed by a child and planned down to every detail beforehand.â

Ted Latimer asked:

âWas there a reason?â

âOh yes, there was a motive. Childish teasings, unkind wordsâenough to foment hatred. Children hate easilyââ

Mary exclaimed: âBut the deliberation of it.â

Mr. Treves nodded.

âYes, the deliberation of it was bad. A child, keeping that murderous intention in its heart, quietly practising day after day and then the final piece of actingâthe awkward shootingâthe catastrophe, the pretence of grief and despair. It was all incredibleâso incredible that probably it would not have been believed in court.â

âWhat happened toâto the child?â asked Kay curiously.

âIts name was changed, I believe,â said Mr. Treves. âAfter the publicity of the inquest that was deemed advisable. That child is a grown-up person todayâsomewhere in the world. The question is, has it still got a murdererâs heart?â

He added thoughtfully:

âIt was a long time ago, but I would recognize my little murderer anywhere.â

âSurely not,â objected Royde.

âOh, yes, there was a certain physical peculiarityâwell, I will not dwell on the subject. It is not a very pleasant one. I must really be on my way home.â

He rose.

Mary said, âYou will have a drink first?â

The drinks were on a table at the other end of the room. Thomas Royde, who was near them, stepped forward and took the stopper out of the whisky decanter.

âA whisky and soda, Mr. Treves? Latimer, what about you?â

Nevile said to Audrey in a low voice:

âItâs a lovely evening. Come out for a little.â

She had been standing by the window looking out at the moonlit terrace. He stepped past her and stood outside, waiting. She turned back into the room, shaking her head quickly.

âNo, Iâm tired. IâI think Iâll go to bed.â

She crossed the room and went out. Kay gave a wide yawn.

âIâm sleepy too. What about you, Mary?â

âYes, I think so. Goodnight, Mr. Treves. Look after Mr. Treves, Thomas.â

âGoodnight, Miss Aldin. Goodnight, Mrs. Strange.â

âWeâll be over for lunch tomorrow, Ted,â said Kay. âWe could bathe if itâs still like this.â

âRight. Iâll be looking for you. Goodnight, Miss Aldin.â

The two women left the room.

Ted Latimer said agreeably to Mr. Treves:

âIâm coming your way, sir. Down to the ferry, so I pass the Hotel.â

âThank you, Mr. Latimer. I shall be glad of your escort.â

Mr. Treves, although he had declared his intention of departing, seemed in no hurry. He sipped his drink with pleasant deliberation and devoted himself to the task of extracting information from Thomas Royde as to the condition of life in Malaya.

Royde was monosyllabic in his answers. The everyday details of existence might have been secrets of National importance from the difficulty with which they were dragged from him. He seemed to be lost in some abstraction of his own, out of which he roused himself with difficulty to reply to his questioner.

Ted Latimer fidgeted. He looked bored, impatient, anxious to be gone.

Suddenly interrupting, he exclaimed:

âI nearly forgot! I brought Kay over some gramophone records she wanted. Theyâre in the hall. Iâll get them. Will you tell her about them tomorrow, Royde?â

The other man nodded. Ted left the room.

âThat young man has a restless nature,â murmured Mr. Treves.

Royde grunted without replying.

âA friend, I think, of Mrs. Strangeâs?â pursued the old lawyer.

âOf Kay Strangeâs,â said Thomas.

Mr. Treves smiled.

âYes,â he said. âI meant that. He would hardly be a friend of the first Mrs. Strange.â

Royde said emphatically:

âNo, he wouldnât.â

Then, catching the otherâs quizzical eye, he said, flushing a little:

âWhat I mean isââ

âOh, I quite understood what you meant, Mr. Royde. You yourself are a friend of Mrs. Audrey Strange, are you not?â

Thomas Royde slowly filled his pipe from his tobacco pouch. His eyes bent to his task, he said or rather mumbled:

âMâyes. More or less brought up together.â

âShe must have been a very charming young girl?â

Thomas Royde said something that sounded like âUmâyum.â

âA little awkward having two Mrs. Stranges in the house?â

âOh yesâyes, rather.â

âA difficult position for the original Mrs. Strange.â

Thomas Roydeâs face flushed.

âExtremely difficult.â

Mr. Treves leaned forward. His question popped out sharply:

âWhy did she come, Mr. Royde?â

âWellâI supposeââ The otherâs voice was indistinct. âSheâdidnât like to refuse.â

âTo refuse whom?â

Royde shifted awkwardly.

âWell, as a matter of fact, I believe she always comes this time of yearâbeginning of September.â

âAnd Lady Tressilian asked Nevile Strange and his new wife at the same time?â The old gentlemanâs voice held a nice note of polite incredulity.

âAs to that, I believe Nevile asked himself.â

âHe was anxious, then, for thisâreunion?â

Royde shifted uneasily. He replied, avoiding the otherâs eye:

âI suppose so.â

âCurious,â said Mr. Treves.

âStupid sort of thing to do,â said Thomas Royde, goaded into longer speech.

âSomewhat embarrassing one would have thought,â said Mr. Treves.

âOh wellâpeople do that sort of thing nowadays,â said Thomas Royde vaguely.

âI wondered,â said Mr. Treves, âif it had been anybody elseâs idea?â

Royde stared.

âWhose elseâs could it have been?â

Mr. Treves sighed.

âThere are so many kind friends about in the worldâalways anxious to arrange other peopleâs lives for themâto suggest courses of action that are not in harmonyââ He broke off as Nevile Strange strolled back through the french windows. At the same moment Ted Latimer entered by the door from the hall.

âHullo, Ted, what have you got there?â asked Nevile.

âGramophone records for Kay. She asked me to bring them over.â

âOh did she? She didnât tell me.â There was just a moment of constraint between the two, then Nevile strolled over to the drink tray and helped himself to a whisky and soda. His face looked excited and unhappy and he was breathing deeply.

Someone in Mr. Trevesâ hearing had referred to Nevile as âthat lucky beggar Strangeâgot everything in the world anyone could wish for.â Yet he did not look, at this moment, at all a happy man.

Thomas Royde, with Nevileâs re-entry, seemed to feel that his duties as host were over. He left the room without attempting to say goodnight, and his walk was slightly more hurried than usual. It was almost an escape.

âA delightful evening,â said Mr. Treves politely as he set down his glass. âMostâerâinstructive.â

âInstructive?â Nevile raised his eyebrows slightly.

âInformation re the Malay States,â suggested Ted, smiling broadly. âHard work dragging answers out of Taciturn Thomas.â

âExtraordinary fellow, Royde,â said Nevile. âI believe heâs always been the same. Just smokes that awful old pipe of his and listens and says Um and Ah occasionally and looks wise like an owl.â

âPerhaps he thinks the more,â said Mr. Treves. âAnd now I really must take my leave.â

âCome and see Lady Tressilian again soon,â said Nevile as he accompanied the two men to the hall. âYou cheer her up enormously. She has so few contacts now with the outside world. Sheâs wonderful, isnât she?â

âYes, indeed. A most stimulating conversationalist.â

Mr. Treves dressed himself carefully with overcoat and muffler, and after renewed goodnights he and Ted Latimer set out together.

The Balmoral Court was actually only about a hundred yards away, around one curve of the road. It loomed up prim and forbidding, the first outpost of the straggling country street.

The ferry, where Ted Latimer was bound, was two or three hundred yards farther down, at a point where the river was at its narrowest.

Mr. Treves stopped at the door of the Balmoral Court and held out his hand.

âGoodnight, Mr. Latimer. You are staying down here much longer?â

Ted smiled with a flash of white teeth. âThat depends, Mr. Treves. I havenât had time to be boredâyet.â

âNoâno, so I should imagine. I suppose like most young people nowadays, boredom is what you dread most in the world, and yet, I can assure you, there are worse things.â

âSuch as?â

Ted Latimerâs voice was soft and pleasant, but it held an undercurrent of something elseâsomething not quite so easy to define.

âOh, I leave it to your imagination, Mr. Latimer. I would not presume to give you advice, you know. The advice of such elderly fogeys as myself is invariably treated with scorn. Rightly so, perhaps, who knows? But we old buffers like to think that experience has taught us something. We have noticed a good deal, you know, in the course of a lifetime.â

A cloud had come over the face of the moon. The street was very dark. Out of the darkness a manâs figure came towards them walking up the hill.

It was Thomas Royde.

âJust been down to the ferry for a bit of a walk,â he said indistinctly because of the pipe clenched between his teeth.

âThis your pub?â he asked Mr. Treves. âLooks as though you were locked out.â

âOh, I donât think so,â said Mr. Treves.

He turned the big brass door knob and the door swung back.

âWeâll see you safely in,â said Royde.

The three of them entered the hall. It was dimly lit with only one electric light. There was no one to be seen, and an odour of bygone dinner, rather dusty velvet, and good furniture polish met their nostrils.

Suddenly Mr. Treves gave an exclamation of annoyance.

On the lift in front of them hung a notice:

LIFT OUT OF ORDER

âDear me,â said Mr. Treves. âHow extremely vexing. I shall have to walk up all those stairs.â

âToo bad,â said Royde. âIsnât there a service liftâluggageâall that?â

âIâm afraid not. This one is used for all purposes. Well I must take it slowly, that is all. Goodnight to you both.â

He started slowly up the wide staircase. Royde and Latimer wished him goodnight, then let themselves out into the dark street.

There was a momentâs pause, then Royde said abruptly:

âWell, goodnight.â

âGoodnight. See you tomorrow.â

âYes.â

Ted Latimer strode lightly down the hill towards the ferry. Thomas Royde stood looking after him for a moment, then he walked slowly in the opposite direction towards Gullâs Point.

The moon came out from behind the cloud and Saltcreek was once more bathed in silvery radiance.

VII

âJust like summer,â murmured Mary Aldin.

She and Audrey were sitting on the beach just below the imposing edifice of the Easterhead Bay Hotel. Audrey wore a white swimsuit and looked like a delicate ivory figure. Mary had not bathed. A little way along from them Kay lay on her face exposing her bronzed limbs and back to the sun.

âUgh,â she sat up. âThe waterâs horribly cold,â she said accusingly.

âOh well, it is September,â said Mary.

âItâs always cold in England,â said Kay discontentedly. âHow I wish we were in the South of France. That really is hot.â

Ted Latimer from beyond her murmured:

âThe sun here isnât a real sun.â

âArenât you going in at all, Mr. Latimer?â asked Mary.

Kay laughed.

âTed never goes in the water. Just suns himself like a lizard.â

She stretched out a toe and prodded him. He sprang up.

âCome and walk, Kay. Iâm cold.â

They went off together along the beach.

âLike a lizard? Rather an unfortunate comparison,â murmured Mary Aldin looking after them.

âIs that what you think of him?â asked Audrey.

Mary Aldin frowned.

âNot quite. A lizard suggests something quite tame. I donât think he is tame.â

âNo,â said Audrey thoughtfully. âI donât think so either.â

âHow well they look together,â said Mary, watching the retreating pair. âThey match somehow, donât they?â

âI suppose they do.â

âThey like the same things,â went on Mary. âAnd have the same opinions andâand use the same language. What a thousand pities it is thatââ

She stopped.

Audrey said sharply:

âThat what?â

Mary said slowly:

âI suppose I was going to say what a pity it was that Nevile and she ever met.â

Audrey sat up stiffly. What Mary called to herself âAudreyâs frozen lookâ had come over her face. Mary said quickly:

âIâm sorry, Audrey. I shouldnât have said that.â

âIâd so much ratherânot talk about it if you donât mind.â

âOf course, of course. It was very stupid of me. IâI hoped youâd got over it, I suppose.â

Audrey turned her head slowly. With a calm expressionless face she said:

âI assure you there is nothing to get over. IâI have no feeling of any kind in the matter. I hopeâI hope with all my heart that Kay and Nevile will always be very happy together.â

âWell, thatâs very nice of you, Audrey.â

âIt isnât nice. It isâjust true. But I do think it isâwellâunprofitable to keep on going back over the past. âItâs a pity this happenedâthat!â Itâs all over now. Why take it up? Weâve got to go on living our lives in the present.â

âI suppose,â said Mary simply, âthat people like Kay and Ted are exciting to me becauseâwell, they are so different from anything or anyone that I have ever come across.â

âYes, I suppose they are.â

âEven you,â said Mary with sudden bitterness, âhave lived and had experiences that I shall probably never have. I know youâve been unhappyâvery unhappyâbut I canât help feeling that even that is better thanâwellânothing. Emptiness!â

She said the last word with a fierce emphasis.

Audreyâs wide eyes looked a little startled.

âI never dreamt you ever felt like that.â

âDidnât you?â Mary Aldin laughed apologetically. âOh just a momentary fit of discontent, my dear. I didnât really mean it.â

âIt canât be very gay for you,â said Audrey slowly. âJust living here with Camillaâdear thing though she is. Reading to her, managing the servants, never going away.â

âIâm well-fed and -housed,â said Mary. âThousands of women arenât even that. And really, Audrey, I am quite contented. I have,â a smile played for a moment round her lips, âmy private distractions.â

âSecret vices?â asked Audrey, smiling also.

âOh, I plan things,â said Mary vaguely. âIn my mind, you know. And I like experimenting sometimesâupon people. Just seeing, you know, if I can make them react to what I say in the way I mean.â

âYou sound almost sadistic, Mary. How little I really know you!â

âOh itâs all quite harmless. Just a childish little amusement.â

Audrey asked curiously:

âHave you experimented on me?â

âNo. Youâre the only person I have always found quite incalculable. I never know, you see, what you are thinking.â

âPerhaps,â said Audrey gravely, âthat is just as well.â

She shivered and Mary exclaimed:

âYouâre cold.â

âYes. I think I will go and dress. After all, it is September.â

Mary Aldin remained alone, staring at the reflection on the water. The tide was going out. She stretched herself out on the sand, closing her eyes.

They had had a good lunch at the Hotel. It was still quite full although it was past the height of the season. A queer, mixed-looking lot of people. Oh well, it had been a day out. Something to break the monotony of day following day. It had been a relief, too, to get away from that sense of tension, that strung-up atmosphere that there had been lately at Gullâs Point. It hadnât been Audreyâs fault, but Nevileâ

Her thoughts broke up abruptly as Ted Latimer plumped himself down on the beach beside her.

âWhat have you done with Kay?â Mary asked.

Ted replied briefly:

âSheâs been claimed by her legal owner.â

Something in his tone made Mary Aldin sit up. She glanced across the stretch of shining golden sands to where Nevile and Kay were walking by the waterâs edge. Then she glanced quickly at the man beside her.

She had thought of him as nerveless, as queer, as dangerous, even. Now for the first time she got a glimpse of someone young and hurt. She thought:

âHe was in love with Kayâreally in love with herâand then Nevile came and took her awayâ¦.â

She said gently:

âI hope you are enjoying yourself down here.â

They were conventional words. Mary Aldin seldom used any words but conventional onesâthat was her language. But her tone was an offerâfor the first timeâof friendliness. Ted Latimer responded to it.

âAs much, probably, as I should enjoy myself anywhere.â

Mary said:

âIâm sorry.â

âBut you donât care a damn, really! Iâm an outsiderâand what does it matter what outsiders feel and think.â

She turned her head to look at this bitter and handsome young man.

He returned her look with one of defiance.

She said slowly as one who makes a discovery:

âI see. You donât like us.â

He laughed shortly.

âDid you expect me to?â

She said thoughtfully:

âI suppose, you know, that I did expect just that. One takes, of course, too much for granted. One should be more humble. Yes, it would not have occurred to me that you would not like us. We have tried to make you welcomeâas Kayâs friend.â

âYesâas Kayâs friend!â

The interruption came with a quick venom.

Mary said with disarming sincerity:

âI wish you would tell meâreally I wish itâjust why you dislike us? What have we done? What is wrong with us?â

Ted Latimer said, with a blistering emphasis on the one word: âSmug!â

âSmug?â Mary queried it without rancour, examining the charge with judicial appraisement.

âYes,â she admitted. âI see that we could seem like that.â

âYou are like that. You take all the good things of life for granted. Youâre happy and superior in your little roped-off enclosure shut off from the common herd. You look at people like me as though I were one of the animals outside!â

âIâm sorry,â said Mary.

âItâs true, isnât it?â

âNo, not quite. We are stupid, perhaps, and unimaginativeâbut not malicious. I myself am conventional and, superficially, I dare say, what you call smug. But really, you know, Iâm quite human inside. Iâm very sorry, this minute, because you are unhappy, and I wish I could do something about it.â

âWellâif thatâs soâitâs nice of you.â

There was a pause, then Mary said gently:

âHave you always been in love with Kay?â

âPretty well.â

âAnd she?â

âI thought soâuntil Strange came along.â

Mary said gently:

âAnd youâre still in love with her?â

âI should think that was obvious.â

After a moment or two, Mary said quietly:

âHadnât you better go away from here?â

âWhy should I?â

âBecause you are only letting yourself in for more unhappiness.â

He looked at her and laughed.

âYouâre a nice creature,â he said. âBut you donât know much about the animals prowling about outside your little enclosure. Quite a lot of things may happen in the near future.â

âWhat sort of things?â said Mary sharply.

âWait and see.â

VIII

When Audrey had dressed she went along the beach and out along a jutting point of rocks, joining Thomas Royde, who was sitting there smoking a pipe exactly opposite to Gullâs Point, which stood white and serene on the opposite side of the river.

Thomas turned his head at Audreyâs approach, but he did not move. She sat down beside him without speaking. They were silent with the comfortable silence of two people who know each other very well indeed.

âHow near it looks,â said Audrey at last, breaking the silence.

Thomas looked across at Gullâs Point.

âYes, we could swim home.â

âNot at this tide. There was a housemaid Camilla had once. She was an enthusiastic bather, used to swim across and back whenever the tide was right. It has to be low or highâbut when itâs running out it sweeps you right down to the mouth of the river. It did that to her one dayâonly luckily she kept her head and came ashore all right on Easter Pointâonly very exhausted.â

âIt doesnât say anything about its being dangerous here.â

âIt isnât this side. The current is the other side. Itâs deep there under the cliffs. There was a would-be suicide last yearâthrew himself off Stark Headâbut he was caught by a tree halfway down the cliff and the coastguards got to him all right.â

âPoor devil,â said Thomas. âI bet he didnât thank them. Must be sickening to have made up your mind to get out of it all and then be saved. Makes a fellow feel a fool.â

âPerhaps heâs glad now,â suggested Audrey dreamily.

She wondered vaguely where the man was now and what he was doing.

Thomas puffed away at his pipe. By turning his head very slightly he could look at Audrey. He noted her grave absorbed face as she stared across the water. The long brown lashes that rested on the pure line of the cheek, the small shell-like ear.

That reminded him of something.

âOh by the way, Iâve got your earringâthe one you lost last night.â

His fingers delved into his pocket. Audrey stretched out a hand.

âOh good, where did you find it? On the terrace?â

âNo. It was near the stairs. You must have lost it as you came down to dinner. I noticed you hadnât got it at dinner.â

âIâm glad to have it back.â

She took it. Thomas reflected that it was rather a large barbaric earring for so small an ear. The ones she had on today were large, too.

He remarked:

âYou wear your earrings even when you bathe. Arenât you afraid of losing them?â

âOh, these are very cheap things. I hate being without earrings because of this.â

She touched her left ear. Thomas remembered.

âOh yes, that time old Bouncer bit you.â

Audrey nodded.

They were silent, reliving a childish memory. Audrey Standish (as she then was), a long spindle-legged child, putting her face down on old Bouncer who had had a sore paw. A nasty bite, he had given her. She had had to have a stitch put in it. Not that there was much to show nowâjust the tiniest little scar.

âMy dear girl,â he said, âyou can hardly see the mark. Why do you mind?â

Audrey paused before answering with evident sincerity:

âItâs becauseâbecause I just canât bear a blemish.â

Thomas nodded. It fitted in with his knowledge of Audreyâof her instinct for perfection. She was in herself so perfectly finished an article.

He said suddenly:

âYouâre far more beautiful than Kay.â

She turned quickly.

âOh no, Thomas. KayâKay is really lovely.â

âOn the outside. Not underneath.â

âAre you referring,â said Audrey with faint amusement, âto my beautiful soul?â

Thomas knocked out the ashes of his pipe.

âNo,â he said. âI think I mean your bones.â

Audrey laughed.

Thomas packed a new pipeful of tobacco. They were silent for quite five minutes, but Thomas glanced at Audrey more than once though he did it so unobtrusively that she was unaware of it.

He said at last quietly:

âWhatâs wrong, Audrey?â

âWrong? What do you mean by wrong?â

âWrong with you. Thereâs something.â

âNo, thereâs nothing. Nothing at all.â

âBut there is.â

She shook her head.

âWonât you tell me?â

âThereâs nothing to tell.â

âI suppose Iâm being a chumpâbut Iâve got to say itââ He paused. âAudreyâcanât you forget about it? Canât you let it all go?â

She dug her small hands convulsively into the rock.

âYou donât understandâyou canât begin to understand.â

âBut Audrey, my dear, I do. Thatâs just it. I know.â

She turned a small doubtful face to him.

âI know exactly what youâve been through. Andâand what it must have meant to you.â

She was very white now, white to the lips.

âI see,â she said. âI didnât thinkâanyone knew.â

âWell, I do. IâIâm not going to talk about it. But what I want to impress upon you is that itâs all overâitâs past and done with.â

She said in a low voice:

âSome things donât pass.â

âLook here, Audrey, itâs no good brooding and remembering. Granted youâve been through Hell. It does no good to go over and over a thing in your mind. Look forwardânot back. Youâre quite young. Youâve got your life to live and most of that is in front of you now. Think of tomorrow, not of yesterday.â

She looked at him with a steady wide-eyed gaze that was singularly unrevealing of her real thoughts.

âAnd supposing,â she said, âthat I canât do that.â

âBut you must.â

Audrey said gently:

âI thought you didnât understand. IâmâIâm not quite normal aboutâsome things, I suppose.â

He broke in roughly,

âRubbish. Youââ He stopped.

âIâwhat?â

âI was thinking of you as you were when you were a girlâbefore you married Nevile. Why did you marry Nevile?â

Audrey smiled.

âBecause I fell in love with him.â

âYes, yes, I know that. But why did you fall in love with him? What attracted you to him so much?â

She crinkled her eyes as though trying to see through the eyes of a girl now dead.

âI think,â she said, âit was because he was so âpositive.â He was always so much the opposite of what I was, myself. I always felt shadowyânot quite real. Nevile was very real. And so happy and sure of himself and soâeverything that I was not.â She added with a smile: âAnd very good-looking.â

Thomas Royde said bitterly:

âYes, the ideal Englishmanâgood at sport, modest, good-looking, always the little pukka sahibâgetting everything he wanted all along the line.â

Audrey sat very upright and stared at him.

âYou hate him,â she said slowly. âYou hate him very much, donât you?â

He avoided her eyes, turning away to cup a match in his hands as he relit the pipe, that had gone out.

âWouldnât be surprising if I did, would it?â he said indistinctly. âHeâs got everything that I havenât. He can play games, and swim and dance, and talk. And Iâm a tongue-tied oaf with a crippled arm. Heâs always been brilliant and successful and Iâve always been a dull dog. And he married the only girl I ever cared for.â

She made a faint sound. He said savagely:

âYouâve always known that, havenât you? You knew I cared about you ever since you were fifteen. You know that I still careââ

She stopped him.

âNo. Not now.â

âWhat do you meanânot now?â

Audrey got up. She said in a quiet reflective voice:

âBecauseânowâI am different.â

âDifferent in what way?â

He got up too and stood facing her.

Audrey said in a quick rather breathless voice:

âIf you donât know, I canât tell youâ¦Iâm not always sure myself. I only knowââ

She broke off, and turning abruptly away she walked quickly back over the rocks towards the Hotel.

Turning a corner of the cliff she came across Nevile. He was lying full length peering into a rock pool. He looked up and grinned.

âHullo, Audrey.â

âHullo, Nevile.â

âIâm watching a crab. Awfully active little beggar. Look, there he is.â

She knelt down and stared where he pointed.

âSee him?â

âYes.â

âHave a cigarette?â

She accepted one and he lighted it for her. After a moment or two, during which she did not look at him, he said, nervously:

âI say, Audrey?â

âYes.â

âItâs all right, isnât it? I meanâbetween us.â

âYes. Yes, of course.â

âI meanâweâre friends and all that.â

âOh yesâyes, of course.â

âI do want us to be friends.â

He looked at her anxiously. She gave him a nervous smile.

He said conversationally:

âItâs been a jolly day, hasnât it? Weather good and all that?â

âOh yesâyes.â

âQuite hot really for September.â

There was a pause.

âAudreyââ

She got up.

âYour wife wants you. Sheâs waving to you.â

âWhoâoh, Kay.â

âI said your wife.â

He scrambled to his feet and stood looking at her.

He said in a very low voice:

âYouâre my wife, Audreyâ¦.â

She turned away. Nevile ran down on to the beach and across the sand to join Kay.

IX

On their arrival back at Gullâs Point, Hurstall came out into the hall and spoke to Mary.

âWould you go up at once to her ladyship, Miss? She is feeling very upset and wanted to see you as soon as you got in.â

Mary hurried up the stairs. She found Lady Tressilian looking white and shaken.

âDear Mary, Iâm so glad you have come. I am feeling most distressed. Poor Mr. Treves is dead.â

âDead?â

âYes, isnât it terrible? So sudden. Apparently he didnât even get undressed last night. He must have collapsed as soon as he got home.â

âOh dear, I am sorry.â

âOne knows, of course, that he was delicate. A weak heart. I hope nothing happened while he was here to overstrain it? There was nothing indigestible for dinner?â

âI donât think soâno, I am sure there wasnât. He seemed quite well and in good spirits.â

âI am really very distressed. I wish, Mary, that you would go to the Balmoral Court and make a few inquiries of Mrs. Rogers. Ask her if there is anything we can do. And then the funeral. For Matthewâs sake I would like to do anything we could. These things are so awkward at a Hotel.â

Mary spoke firmly.

âDear Camilla, you really must not worry. This has been a shock to you.â

âIndeed it has.â

âI will go to the Balmoral Court at once and then come back and tell you all about things.â

âThank you, Mary dear, you are always so practical and understanding.â

âPlease try and rest now. A shock of this kind is so bad for you.â

Mary Aldin left the room and came downstairs. Entering the drawing room she exclaimed: âOld Mr. Treves is dead. He died last night after returning home.â

âPoor old boy,â exclaimed Nevile. âWhat was it?â

âHeart apparently. He collapsed as soon as he got in.â

Thomas Royde said thoughtfully:

âI wonder if the stairs did him in.â

âStairs?â Mary looked at him inquiringly.

âYes. When Latimer and I left him he was just starting up. We told him to take it slow.â

Mary exclaimed:

âBut how very foolish of him not to take the lift.â

âThe lift was out of order.â

âOh, I see. How very unfortunate. Poor old man.â

She added: âIâm going round there now. Camilla wants to know if there is anything we can do.â

Thomas said: âIâll come with you.â

They walked together down the road and round the corner to the Balmoral Court. Mary remarked:

âI wonder if he has any relatives who ought to be notified?â

âHe didnât mention anyone.â

âNo, and people usually do. They say âmy niece,â or âmy cousin.ââ

âWas he married?â

âI believe not.â

They entered the open door of the Balmoral Court.

Mrs. Rogers, the proprietress, was talking to a tall middle-aged man, who raised a friendly hand in greeting to Mary.

âGood afternoon, Miss Aldin.â

âGood afternoon, Dr. Lazenby. This is Mr. Royde. We came round with a message from Lady Tressilian to know if there is anything we can do.â

âThatâs very kind of you, Miss Aldin,â said the Hotel proprietress. âCome into my room, wonât you?â

They all went into the small comfortable sitting room and Dr. Lazenby said:

âMr. Treves was dining at your place last night, wasnât he?â

âYes.â

âHow did he seem? Did he show any signs of distress?â

âNo, he seemed very well and cheerful.â

The doctor nodded.

âYes, thatâs the worst of these heart cases. The end is nearly always sudden. I had a look at his prescriptions upstairs and it seems quite clear that he was in a very precarious state of health. I shall communicate with his London doctor, of course.â

âHe was very careful of himself always,â said Mrs. Rogers. âAnd Iâm sure he had every care here we could give him.â

âIâm sure of that, Mrs. Rogers,â said the doctor tactfully. âIt was just some tiny additional strain, no doubt.â

âSuch as walking upstairs,â suggested Mary.

âYes, that might do it. In fact almost certainly wouldâthat is, if he ever walked up those three flightsâbut surely he never did anything of that kind?â

âOh no,â said Mrs. Rogers. âHe always used the lift. Always. He was most particular.â

âI mean,â said Mary, âthat with the lift being out of order last nightââ

Mrs. Rogers was staring at her in surprise.

âBut the lift wasnât out of order at all yesterday, Miss Aldin.â

Thomas Royde coughed.

âExcuse me,â he said. âI came home with Mr. Treves last night. There was a placard on the lift saying âOut of order.ââ

Mrs. Rogers stared.

âWell, thatâs an odd thing. Iâd have declared there was nothing wrong with the liftâin fact Iâm sure there wasnât. Iâd have heard about it if there was. We havenât had anything go wrong with the lift (touching wood) sinceâoh, not for a good eighteen months. Very reliable it is.â

âPerhaps,â suggested the doctor, âsome porter or hall boy put that notice up when he was off duty?â

âItâs an automatic lift, doctor, it doesnât need anyone to work it.â

âAh yes, so it is. I was forgetting.â

âIâll have a word with Joe,â said Mrs. Rogers. She bustled out of the room calling, âJoeâJoe.â

Dr. Lazenby looked curiously at Thomas.

âExcuse me, youâre quite sure, Mr.âerââ

âRoyde,â put in Mary.

âQuite sure,â said Thomas.

Mrs. Rogers came back with the porter. Joe was emphatic that nothing whatever had been wrong with the lift on the preceding night. There was such a placard as Thomas had describedâbut it was tucked away under the desk and hadnât been used for over a year.

They all looked at each other and agreed it was a most mysterious thing. The doctor suggested some practical joke on the part of one of the Hotel visitors, and perforce they left it at that.

In reply to Maryâs inquiries, Doctor Lazenby explained that Mr. Trevesâ chauffeur had given him the address of Mr. Trevesâ solicitors, and he was communicating with them and that he would come round and see Lady Tressilian and tell her what was going to be done about the funeral.

Then the busy cheerful doctor hurried off and Mary and Thomas walked slowly back to Gullâs Point.

Mary said:

âYouâre quite sure you saw that notice, Thomas?â

âBoth Latimer and I saw it.â

âWhat an extraordinary thing!â said Mary.

X

It was the 12th of September. âOnly two more days,â said Mary Aldin. Then she bit her lip and flushed.

Thomas Royde looked at her thoughtfully.

âIs that how you feel about it?â

âI donât know whatâs the matter with me,â said Mary. âNever in all my life have I been so anxious for a visit to come to an end. And usually we enjoy having Nevile so much. And Audrey too.â

Thomas nodded.

âBut this time,â went on Mary, âone feels as though one were sitting on dynamite. At any minute the whole thing may explode. Thatâs why I said to myself first thing this morning: âOnly two days more.â Audrey goes on Wednesday and Nevile and Kay on Thursday.â

âAnd I go on Friday,â said Thomas.

âOh Iâm not counting you. Youâve been a tower of strength. I donât know what I should have done without you.â

âThe human buffer?â

âMore than that. Youâve been so kind and soâso calm. That sounds rather ridiculous but it really does express what I mean.â

Thomas looked pleased though slightly embarrassed.

âI donât know why weâve all been so het up,â said Mary reflectively. âAfter all, if there were anâan outburstâit would be awkward and embarrassing, but nothing more.â

âBut thereâs been more to your feeling than that.â

âOh yes, there has. A definite feeling of apprehension. Even the servants feel it. The kitchenmaid burst into tears and gave notice this morningâfor no reason at all. The cookâs jumpyâHurstall is all on edgeâeven Barrett, who is usually as calm as aâa battleshipâhas shown signs of nerves. And all because Nevile has this ridiculous idea of wanting his former and present wife to make friends and so soothe his own conscience.â

âIn which ingenious idea he has singularly failed,â remarked Thomas.

âYes. Kay isâis getting quite beside herself. And really, Thomas, I canât help sympathizing with her.â She paused. âDid you notice the way Nevile looked after Audrey as she went up the stairs last night? He still cares about her, Thomas. The whole thing has been the most tragic mistake.â

Thomas started filling his pipe.

âHe should have thought of that before,â he said in a hard voice.

âOh I know. Thatâs what one says. But it doesnât alter the fact that the whole thing is a tragedy. I canât help feeling sorry for Nevile.â

âPeople like Nevileââ began Thomas and then stopped.

âYes.â

âPeople like Nevile think they can always have everything their own wayâand have everything they want, too. I donât suppose Nevile has ever had a setback over anything in his life till he came up against this business of Audrey. Well, heâs got it now. He canât have Audrey. Sheâs out of his reach. No good his making a song and dance about it. Heâs just got to lump it.â

âI suppose youâre quite right. But you do sound hard. Audrey was so much in love with Nevile when she married himâand they always got on together so well.â

âWell, sheâs out of love with him now.â

âI wonder,â murmured Mary under her breath.

Thomas was going on:

âAnd Iâll tell you something else. Nevile had better look out for Kay. Sheâs a dangerous kind of young womanâreally dangerous. If she got her temper up sheâd stop at nothing.â

âOh dear,â Mary sighed and, returning to her original remarks, said hopefully: âWell, itâs only two days more.â

Things had been very difficult for the last four or five days. The death of Mr. Treves had given Lady Tressilian a shock which had told adversely on her health. The funeral had taken place in London, for which Mary was thankful, since it enabled the old lady to take her mind off the sad event more quickly than she might have been able to do otherwise. The domestic side of the household had been very nervy and difficult and Mary really felt tired and dispirited this morning.

âItâs partly the weather,â she said aloud. âItâs unnatural.â

It had indeed been an unusually hot and fine spell for September. On several days the thermometer had registered 70 in the shade.

Nevile strolled out of the house and joined them as she spoke.

âBlaming the weather?â he asked, with a glance up at the sky. âIt is rather incredible. Hotter than ever today. And no wind. Makes one feel jumpy somehow. However, I think weâll get rain before very long. Today is just a bit too tropical to last.â

Thomas Royde had moved very gently and aimlessly away and now disappeared round the corner of the house.

âDeparture of gloomy Thomas,â said Nevile. âNobody could say he shows any enjoyment of my company.â

âHeâs rather a dear,â said Mary.

âI disagree. Narrow-minded prejudiced sort of chap.â

âHe always hoped to marry Audrey, I think. And then you came along and cut him out.â

âIt would have taken him about seven years to make up his mind to ask her to marry him. Did he expect the poor girl to wait while he made up his mind?â

âPerhaps,â said Mary deliberately, âit will all come right now.â

Nevile looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

âTrue love rewarded? Audrey marry that wet fish? Sheâs a lot too good for that. No, I donât see Audrey marrying gloomy Thomas.â

âI believe she is really very fond of him, Nevile.â

âWhat matchmakers you women always are! Canât you let Audrey enjoy her freedom for a bit?â

âIf she does enjoy it, certainly.â

Nevile said quickly:

âYou think sheâs not happy?â

âI really havenât the least idea.â

âNo more have I,â said Nevile slowly. âOne never does know what Audrey is feeling.â He paused and then added, âBut Audrey is one hundred per cent thoroughbred. Sheâs white all through.â

Then he said, more to himself than to Mary:

âGod, what a damned fool Iâve been!â

Mary went into the house a little worried. For the third time she repeated to herself the comforting words, âOnly two days more.â

Nevile wandered restlessly about the garden and terraces.

Right at the end of the garden he found Audrey sitting on the low wall looking down at the water below. It was high tide and the river was full.

She got up at once and came towards him.

âI was just coming back to the house. It must be nearly tea-time.â

She spoke quickly and nervously without looking at him.

He walked beside her without speaking.

Only when they reached the terrace again did he say:

âCan I talk to you, Audrey?â

She said at once, her fingers gripping the edge of the balustrade: âI think youâd better not.â

âThat means you know what I want to say.â

She did not answer.

âWhat about it, Audrey? Canât we go back to where we were? Forget everything that has happened?â

âIncluding Kay?â

âKay,â said Nevile, âwill be sensible.â

âWhat do you mean by sensible?â

âSimply this. I shall go to her and tell her the truth. Fling myself on her generosity. Tell her, what is true, that you are the only woman I ever loved.â

âYou loved Kay when you married her.â

âMy marriage to Kay was the biggest mistake I ever made. Iââ

He stopped. Kay had come out of the drawing room window. She walked towards them, and before the fury in her eyes even Nevile shrank a little.

âSorry to interrupt this touching scene,â said Kay. âBut I think itâs about time I did.â

Audrey moved away. âIâll leave you alone,â she said.

Her face and voice were colourless.

âThatâs right,â said Kay. âYouâve done all the mischief you wanted to do, havenât you? Iâll deal with you later. Just now Iâd rather have it out with Nevile.â

âLook here, Kay, Audrey has absolutely nothing to do with this. Itâs not her fault. Blame me if you likeââ

âAnd I do like,â said Kay. Her eyes blazed at Nevile. âWhat sort of man do you think you are?â

âA pretty poor sort of man,â said Nevile bitterly.

âYou leave your wife, come bullheaded after me, get your wife to give you a divorce. Crazy about me one minute, tired of me the next! Now I suppose you want to go back to that whey-faced, mewling, double-crossing little catââ

âStop that, Kay!â

âWell, what do you want?â

Nevile was very white. He said:

âIâm every kind of a worm you like to call me. But itâs no good, Kay. I canât go on. I thinkâreallyâI must have loved Audrey all the time. My love for you wasâwas a kind of madness. But itâs no good, my dearâyou and I donât belong. I shouldnât be able to make you happy in the long run. Believe me, Kay, itâs better to cut our losses. Letâs try and part friends. Be generous.â

Kay said in a deceptively quiet voice:

âWhat exactly are you suggesting?â

Nevile did not look at her. His chin took on a dogged angle.

âWe can get a divorce. You can divorce me for desertion.â

âNot for some time. Youâll have to wait for it.â

âIâll wait,â said Nevile.

âAnd then, after three years or whatever it is, youâll ask dear sweet Audrey to marry you all over again?â

âIf sheâll have me.â

âSheâll have you all right!â said Kay viciously. âAnd where do I come in?â

âYouâll be free to find a better man than I am. Naturally I shall see youâre well provided forââ

âCut out the bribes!â Her voice rose, as she lost control of herself. âListen to me, Nevile. You canât do this thing to me! Iâll not divorce you. I married you because I loved you. I know when you started turning against me. It was after I let you know I followed you to Estoril. You wanted to think it was all Fate. Itâs upset your vanity to think it was me. Well, Iâm not ashamed of what I did. You fell in love with me and married me and Iâm not going to let you go back to that sly little cat whoâs got her hooks into you again. She meant this to happenâbut sheâs not going to bring it off! Iâll kill you first. Do you hear? Iâll kill you. Iâll kill her too. Iâll see you both dead. Iâllââ

Nevile took a step forward and caught her by the arm.

âShut up, Kay. For goodnessâ sake. You canât make this kind of scene here.â

âCanât I? Youâll see. Iâllââ

Hurstall stepped out on the terrace. His face was quite impassive.

âTea is served in the drawing room,â he announced.

Kay and Nevile walked slowly towards the drawing room window.

Hurstall stood aside to let them pass in.

Up in the sky the clouds were gathering.

XI

The rain started falling at a quarter to seven. Nevile watched it from the window of his bedroom. He had no further conversation with Kay. They had avoided each other after tea.

Dinner that evening was a stilted difficult meal. Nevile was sunk in abstraction; Kayâs face had an unusual amount of makeup for her; Audrey sat like a frozen ghost. Mary Aldin did her best to keep some kind of a conversation going and was slightly annoyed with Thomas Royde for not playing up to her better.

Hurstall was nervous and his hands trembled as he handed the vegetables.

As the meal drew to a close, Nevile said with elaborate casualness: âThink I shall go over to Easterhead after dinner and look up Latimer. We might have a game of billiards.â

âTake the latch key,â said Mary. âIn case youâre back late.â

âThanks, I will.â

They went into the drawing room, where coffee was served.

The turning on of the wireless and the news was a welcome diversion.

Kay, who had been yawning ostentatiously ever since dinner, said she would go up to bed. She had a headache, she said.

âHave you got any aspirin?â asked Mary.

âYes, thank you.â

Kay left the room.

Nevile turned the wireless on to a programme with music. He sat silent on the sofa for some time. He did not look once at Audrey, but sat huddled up looking like an unhappy little boy. Against her will, Mary felt quite sorry for him.

âWell,â he said, at last rousing himself, âbetter be off if Iâm going.â

âAre you taking your car or going by ferry?â

âOh, ferry. No sense in going a round of fifteen miles. I shall enjoy a bit of a walk.â

âItâs raining, you know.â

âI know. Iâve got a Burberry.â He went towards the door.

âGoodnight.â

In the hall, Hurstall came to him.

âIf you please, sir, will you go up to Lady Tressilian? She wants to see you specially.â

Nevile glanced at the clock. It was already ten oâclock.

He shrugged his shoulders and went upstairs and along the corridor to Lady Tressilianâs room and tapped on the door. While he waited for her to say Come in, he heard the voices of the others in the hall down below. Everybody was going to bed early tonight, it seemed.

âCome in,â said Lady Tressilianâs clear voice.

Nevile went in, shutting the door behind him.

Lady Tressilian was all ready for the night. All the lights were extinguished except one reading lamp by her bed. She had been reading, but she now laid down the book. She looked at Nevile over the top of her spectacles. It was, somehow, a formidable glance.

âI want to speak to you, Nevile,â she said.

In spite of himself, Nevile smiled faintly.

âYes, Headmaster,â he said.

Lady Tressilian did not smile.

âThere are certain things, Nevile, that I will not permit in my house. I have no wish to listen to anybodyâs private conversations, but if you and your wife insist on shouting at each other exactly under my bedroom windows, I can hardly fail to hear what you say. I gather that you were outlining a plan whereby Kay was to divorce you and in due course you would remarry Audrey. That, Nevile, is a thing you simply cannot do and I will not hear of it for a moment.â

Nevile seemed to be making an effort to control his temper.

âI apologize for the scene,â he said, shortly. âAs for the rest of what you say, surely that is my business!â

âNo, it is not. You have used my house in order to get into touch with Audreyâor else Audrey has used itââ

âShe has done nothing of the sort. Sheââ

Lady Tressilian stopped him with upraised hand.

âAnyway, you canât do this thing, Nevile. Kay is your wife. She has certain rights of which you cannot deprive her. In this matter I am entirely on Kayâs side. You have made your bed and must lie upon it. Your duty now is to Kay and Iâm telling you so plainlyââ

Nevile took a step forward. His voice rose:

âThis is nothing whatever to do with youââ

âWhat is more,â Lady Tressilian swept on, regardless of his protest. âAudrey leaves this house tomorrowââ

âYou canât do that! I wonât stand for itââ

âDonât shout at me, Nevile.â

âI tell you I wonât have itââ

Somewhere along the passage a door shutâ¦.

XII

Alice Bentham, the gooseberry-eyed housemaid, came to Mrs. Spicer, the cook, in some perturbation.

âOh, Mrs. Spicer, I donât rightly know what I ought to do.â

âWhatâs the matter, Alice?â

âItâs Miss Barrett. I took her in her cup of tea over an hour ago. Fast asleep she was and never woke up, but I didnât like to do much. And then, five minutes ago, I went in again because she hadnât come down and her ladyshipâs tea all ready and waiting for her to take in. So I went in again and sheâs sleeping ever soâI canât stir her.â

âHave you shaken her?â

âYes, Mrs. Spicer. I shook her headâbut she just goes on lying there and sheâs ever such a horrid colour.â

âGoodness, sheâs not dead, is she?â

âOh no, Mrs. Spicer, because I can hear her breathing, but itâs funny breathing. I think sheâs ill or something.â

âWell, Iâll go up and see myself. You take in her ladyshipâs tea. Better make a fresh pot. Sheâll be wondering whatâs happened.â

Alice obediently did as she was told whilst Mrs. Spicer went up to the second floor.

Taking the tray along the corridor, Alice knocked at Lady Tressilianâs door. After knocking twice and getting no answer she went in. A moment later, there was a crash of broken crockery and a series of wild screams, and Alice came rushing out of the room and down the stairs to where Hurstall was crossing the hall to the dining room.

âOh, Mr. Hurstallâthereâve been burglars and her ladyshipâs deadâkilledâwith a great hole in her head and blood everywhereâ¦.â

A FINE ITALIAN HANDâ¦

I

Superintendent Battle had enjoyed his holiday. There were still three days of it to run and he was a little disappointed when the weather changed and the rain fell. Still, what else could you expect in England? And heâd been extremely lucky up to now.

He was breakfasting with Inspector James Leach, his nephew, when the telephone rang.

âIâll come right along, sir.â Jim put the receiver back.

âSerious?â asked Superintendent Battle. He noted the expression on his nephewâs face.

âWeâve got a murder. Lady Tressilian. An old lady, very well known down here, an invalid. Has that house at Saltcreek that hangs right over the cliff.â

Battle nodded.

âIâm going along to see the old manâ (thus disrespectfully did Leach speak of his Chief Constable). âHeâs a friend of hers. Weâre going along together.â

As he went to the door he said pleadingly:

âYouâll give me a hand, wonât you, Uncle, over this? First case of this kind Iâve had.â

âAs long as Iâm here, I will. Case of robbery and housebreaking, is it?â

âI donât know yet.â

II

Half an hour later, Major Robert Mitchell, the Chief Constable, was speaking gravely to uncle and nephew.

âItâs early to say as yet,â he said, âbut one thing seems clear. This wasnât an outside job. Nothing taken, no signs of breaking in. All the windows and doors found shut this morning.â

He looked directly at Battle.

âIf I were to ask Scotland Yard, do you think theyâd put you on the job? Youâre on the spot, you see. And then thereâs your relationship with Leach here. That is, if youâre willing. It means cutting the end of your holiday.â

âThatâs all right,â said Battle. âAs for the other, sir, youâll have to put it up to Sir Edgarâ (Sir Edgar Cotton was Assistant Commissioner) âbut I believe heâs a friend of yours?â

Mitchell nodded.

âYes, I think I can manage Edgar all right. Thatâs settled, then! Iâll get through right away.â

He spoke into the telephone: âGet me the Yard.â

âYou think itâs going to be an important case, sir?â asked Battle.

Mitchell said gravely:

âItâs going to be a case where we donât want the possibility of making a mistake. We want to be absolutely sure of our manâor woman, of course.â

Battle nodded. He understood quite well that there was something behind the words.

âThinks he knows who did it,â he said to himself. âAnd doesnât relish the prospect. Somebody well-known and popular or Iâll eat my boots!â

III

Battle and Leach stood in the doorway of the well-furnished handsome bedroom. On the floor in front of them a police officer was carefully testing for fingerprints the handle of a golf clubâa heavy niblick. The head of the club was bloodstained and had one or two white hairs sticking to it.

By the bed, Dr. Lazenby, who was police surgeon for the district, was bending over the body of Lady Tressilian.

He straightened up with a sigh.

âPerfectly straightforward. She was hit from in front with terrific force. First blow smashed in the bone and killed her, but the murderer struck again to make sure. I wonât give you fancy termsâjust the plain horse sense of it.â

âHow long has she been dead?â asked Leach.

âIâd put it between ten oâclock and midnight.â

âYou canât go nearer than that?â

âIâd rather not. All sorts of factors to take into account. We donât hang people on rigor mortis nowadays. Not earlier than ten, not later than midnight.â

âAnd she was hit with this niblick?â

The doctor glanced over at it.

âPresumably. Luck, though, that the murderer left it behind. I couldnât have deduced a niblick from the wound. As it happens the sharp edge of the club didnât touch the headâit was the angled back of the club that must have hit her.â

âWouldnât that have been rather difficult to do?â asked Leach.

âIf it had been done on purpose, yes,â agreed the doctor. âI can only suppose, that by a rather odd chance, it just happened that way.â

Leach was raising his hands, instinctively trying to reconstruct the blow.

âAwkward,â he commented.

âYes,â said the doctor thoughtfully. âThe whole thing was awkward. She was struck, you see, on the right templeâbut whoever did it must have stood on the right-hand side of the bedâfacing the head of the bedâthereâs no room on the left, the angle from the wall is too small.â

Leach pricked up his ears.

âLeft-handed?â he queried.

âYou wonât get me to commit myself on that point,â said Lazenby. âFar too many snags. Iâll say, if you like, that the easiest explanation is that the murderer was left-handedâbut there are other ways of accounting for it. Suppose, for instance, the old lady had turned her head slightly to the left just as the man hit. Or he may have previously moved the bed out, stood on the left of it and afterwards moved the bed back.â

âNot very likelyâthat last.â

âPerhaps not, but it might have happened. Iâve had some experience in these things, and I can tell you, my boy, deducing that a murderous blow was struck left-handed is full of pitfalls.â

Detective Sergeant Jones, from the floor, remarked, âThis golf club is the ordinary right-handed kind.â

Leach nodded. âStill, it maynât have belonged to the man who used it. It was a man, I suppose, doctor?â

âNot necessarily. If the weapon was that heavy niblick a woman could have landed a terrible swipe with it.â

Superintendent Battle said in his quiet voice:

âBut you couldnât swear that that was the weapon, could you, doctor?â

Lazenby gave him a quick interested glance.

âNo. I can only swear that it might have been the weapon, and that presumably it was the weapon. Iâll analyse the blood on it, make sure that itâs the same blood groupâalso the hairs.â

âYes,â said Battle approvingly. âItâs always as well to be thorough.â

Lazenby asked curiously:

âGot any doubts about that golf club yourself, Superintendent?â

Battle shook his head.

âOh no, no. Iâm a simple man. Like to believe the things I see with my eyes. She was hit with something heavyâthatâs heavy. It has blood and hair on it, therefore presumably her blood and hair. Ergoâthat was the weapon used.â

Leach asked: âWas she awake or asleep when she was hit?â

âIn my opinion, awake. Thereâs astonishment on her face. Iâd sayâthis is just a private personal opinionâthat she didnât expect what was going to happen. Thereâs no sign of any attempt to fightâand no horror or fear. Iâd say offhand that either she had just woken up from sleep and was hazy and didnât take things inâor else she recognized her assailant as someone who could not possibly wish to harm her.â

âThe bedside lamp was on and nothing else,â said Leach thoughtfully.

âYes, that cuts either way. She may have turned it on when she was suddenly woken up by someone entering her room. Or it may have been on already.â

Detective Sergeant Jones rose to his feet. He was smiling appreciatively.

âLovely set of prints on that club,â he said. âClear as anything!â

Leach gave a deep sigh.

âThat ought to simplify things.â

âObliging chap,â said Dr. Lazenby. âLeft the weaponâleft his fingerprints on itâwonder he didnât leave his visiting card!â

âIt might be,â said Superintendent Battle, âthat he just lost his head. Some do.â

The doctor nodded.

âTrue enough. Well, I must go and look after my other patient.â

âWhat patient?â Battle sounded suddenly interested.

âI was sent for by the butler before this was discovered. Lady Tressilianâs maid was found in a coma this morning.â

âWhatâs wrong with her?â

âHeavily doped with one of the barbiturates. Sheâs pretty bad, but sheâll pull round.â

âThe maid?â said Battle. His rather oxlike eyes went heavily to the big bell pull, the tassel of which rested on the pillow near the dead womanâs hand.

Lazenby nodded.

âExactly. Thatâs the first thing Lady Tressilian would have done if sheâd cause to feel alarmâpull that bell and summon the maid. Well, she could have pulled it till all was blue. The maid wouldnât have heard.â

âThat was taken care of, was it?â said Battle. âYouâre sure of that? She wasnât in the habit of taking sleeping draughts?â

âIâm positive she wasnât. Thereâs no sign of such a thing in her room. And Iâve found out how it was given to her. Senna pods. She drank a brew of senna pods every night. The stuff was in that.â

Superintendent Battle scratched his chin.

âHâm,â he said. âSomebody knew all about this house. You know, doctor, this is a very odd sort of murder.â

âWell,â said Lazenby, âthatâs your business.â

âHeâs a good man, our doctor,â said Leach when Lazenby had left the room.

The two men were alone now. The photographs had been taken, and measurements recorded. The two police officers knew every fact that was to be known about the room where the crime had been committed.

Battle nodded in answer to his nephewâs remark. He seemed to be puzzling over something.

âDo you think anyone could have handled that clubâwith gloves on, sayâafter those fingerprints were made?â

Leach shook his head.

âI donât and no more do you. You couldnât grasp that clubânot use it, I mean, without smearing those prints. They werenât smeared. They were as clear as clear. You saw for yourself.â

Battle agreed.

âAnd now we ask very nicely and politely if every body will allow us to take their fingerprintsâno compulsion, of course. And everyone will say yesâand then one of two things will happen. Either none of these fingerprints will agree, or elseââ

âOr else weâll have got our man?â

âI suppose so. Or our woman, perhaps.â

Leach shook his head.

âNo, not a woman. Those prints on the club were a manâs. Too big for a womanâs. Besides, this isnât a womanâs crime.â

âNo.â agreed Battle. âQuite a manâs crime. Brutal, masculine, rather athletic and slightly stupid. Know anybody in the house like that?â

âI donât know anyone in the house yet. Theyâre all together in the dining room.â

Battle moved towards the door.

âWeâll go and have a look at them.â He glanced over his shoulder at the bed, shook his head and remarked:

âI donât like that bell pull.â

âWhat about it?â

âIt doesnât fit.â

He added as he opened the door:

âWho wanted to kill her, I wonder? A lot of cantankerous old ladies about just asking for a tap on the skull. She doesnât look that sort. I should think she was liked.â He paused a minute and then asked:

âWell off, wasnât she? Who gets her money?â

Leach answered the implication of the words.

âYouâve hit it! That will be the answer. Itâs one of the first things to find out.â

As they went downstairs together, Battle glanced at the list in his hand. He read out:

âMiss Aldin, Mr. Royde, Mr. Strange, Mrs. Strange, Mrs. Audrey Strange. Hâm, seem a lot of the Strange family.â

âThose are his two wives, I understand.â

Battleâs eyebrows rose and he murmured:

âBluebeard, is he?â

The family were assembled round the dining room table, where they had made a pretence of eating.

Superintendent Battle glanced keenly at the faces turned to him. He was sizing them up after his own peculiar methods. His view of them might have surprised them had they known it. It was a sternly biased view. No matter what the law pretends as to regarding people as innocent until they are proved guilty, Superintendent Battle always regarded everyone connected with a murder case as a potential murderer.

He glanced from Mary Aldin, sitting upright and pale at the head of the table, to Thomas Royde, filling a pipe beside her, to Audrey sitting with her chair pushed back, a coffee cup and saucer in her right hand, a cigarette in her left, to Nevile looking dazed and bewildered, trying with a shaking hand to light a cigarette, to Kay with her elbows on the table and the pallor of her face showing through her makeup.

These were Superintendent Battleâs thoughts:

Suppose thatâs Miss Aldin. Cool customerâcompetent woman, I should say. Wonât catch her off guard easily. Man next to her is a dark horseâgot a groggy armâpoker faceâgot an inferiority complex as likely as not. Thatâs one of these wives, I supposeâsheâs scared to deathâyes, sheâs scared all right. Funny about that coffee cup. Thatâs Strange, Iâve seen him before somewhere. Heâs got the jitters all rightânerves shot to pieces. Redheaded girlâs a tartarâdevil of a temper. Brains as well as temper, though.

Whilst he was thus sizing them up Inspector Leach was making a stiff little speech. Mary Aldin mentioned everyone present by name.

She ended up:

âIt has been a terrible shock to us, of course, but we are anxious to help you in any way we can.â

âTo begin with,â said Leach, holding it up, âdoes anybody know anything about this golf club?â

With a little cry, Kay said, âHow horrible. Is that whatâ?â and stopped.

Nevile Strange got up and came round the table.

âLooks like one of mine. Can I just see?â

âItâs quite all right now,â said Inspector Leach. âYou can handle it.â

That significant ânowâ did not seem to produce any reaction in the onlookers. Nevile examined the club.

âI think itâs one of the niblicks out of my bag,â he said. âI can tell you for sure in a minute or two. If you will just come with me.â They followed him to a big cupboard under the stairs. He flung open the door of it and to Battleâs confused eyes it seemed literally crowded with tennis racquets. At the same time, he remembered where he had seen Nevile Strange before. He said quickly:

âIâve seen you play at Wimbledon, sir.â

Nevile half turned his head. âOh yes, have you?â

He was throwing aside some of the racquets. There were two golf bags in the cupboard leaning up against fishing tackle.

âOnly my wife and I play golf,â explained Nevile. âAnd thatâs a manâs club. Yes, thatâs rightâitâs mine.â

He had taken out his bag, which contained at least fourteen clubs.

Inspector Leach thought to himself:

âThese athletic chaps certainly take themselves seriously. Wouldnât like to be his caddy.â

Nevile was saying:

âItâs one of Walter Hudsonâs niblicks from St. Esbertâs.â

âThank you, Mr. Strange. That settles one question.â

Nevile said: âWhat beats me is that nothing was taken. And the house doesnât seem to have been broken into?â His voice was bewilderedâbut it was also frightened.

Battle said to himself:

âTheyâve been thinking it out, all of themâ¦.â

âThe servants,â said Nevile, âare so absolutely harmless.â

âI shall talk to Miss Aldin about the servants,â said Inspector Leach smoothly. âIn the meantime I wonder if you could give me any idea who Lady Tressilianâs solicitors are?â

âAskwith & Trelawny,â replied Nevile promptly. âSt. Loo.â

âThank you, Mr. Strange. We shall have to find out from them all about Lady Tressilianâs property.â

âDo you mean,â asked Nevile, âwho inherits her money?â

âThatâs right, sir. Her will, and all that.â

âI donât know about her will,â said Nevile. âShe had not very much of her own to leave so far as I know. I can tell you about the bulk of her property.â

âYes, Mr. Strange?â

âIt comes to me and my wife under the will of the late Sir Matthew Tressilian. Lady Tressilian only had a life interest in it.â

âIndeed, is that so?â Inspector Leach looked at Nevile with the interested attention of someone who spots a possibly valuable addition to his pet collection. The look made Nevile wince nervously. Inspector Leach went on and his voice was impossibly genial.

âYouâve no idea of the amount, Mr. Strange?â

âI couldnât tell you offhand. In the neighbourhood of a hundred thousand pounds, I believe.â

âIndeed. To each of you?â

âNo, divided between us.â

âI see. A very considerable sum.â

Nevile smiled. He said quietly: âIâve got plenty to live on of my own, you know, without hankering to step into dead peopleâs shoes.â

Inspector Leach looked shocked at having such ideas attributed to him.

They went back into the dining room and Leach said his next little piece. This was on the subject of fingerprintsâa matter of routineâelimination of those of the household in the dead womanâs bedroom.

Everyone expressed willingnessâalmost eagernessâto have their fingerprints taken. They were shepherded into the library for that purpose, where Detective Sergeant Jones was waiting for them with his little roller.

Battle and Leach began on the servants.

Nothing very much was to be got from them. Hurstall explained his system of locking up the house and swore that he had found it untouched in the morning. There were no signs of any entry by an intruder. The front door, he explained, had been left on the latch. That is to say, it was not bolted, but could be opened from outside with a key. It was left like that because Mr. Nevile had gone over to Easterhead Bay and would be back late.

âDo you know what time he came in?â

âYes, sir, I think it was about half past two. Someone came back with him, I think. I heard voices and then a car drive away and then I heard the door close and Mr. Nevile come upstairs.â

âWhat time did he leave here last night for Easterhead Bay?â

âAbout twenty past ten. I heard the door close.â

Leach nodded. There did not seem to be much more to be got from Hurstall at the moment. He interviewed the others. They were all disposed to be nervous and frightened, but no more so than was natural under the circumstances.

Leach looked questioningly at his uncle as the door closed behind the slightly hysterical kitchenmaid, who had tailed the procession.

Battle said: âHave the housemaid backânot the pop-eyed oneâthe tall thin bit of vinegar. She knows something.â

Emma Wales was clearly uneasy. It alarmed her that this time it was the big square elderly man who took upon himself the task of questioning her.

âIâm just going to give you a bit of advice, Miss Wales,â he said pleasantly. âIt doesnât do, you know, to hold anything back from the police. Makes them look at you unfavourably, if you understand what I meanââ

Emma Wales protested indignantly but uneasily:

âIâm sure I neverââ

âNow, now.â Battle held up a large square hand. âYou saw something or else you heard somethingâwhat was it?â

âI didnât exactly hear itâI mean I couldnât help hearing itâMr. Hurstall, he heard it too. And I donât think, not for a moment I donât, that it had anything to do with the murder.â

âProbably not, probably not. Just tell us what it was.â

âWell, I was going up to bed. Just after ten it wasâand Iâd slipped along first to put Miss Aldinâs hot water bottle in her bed. Summer or winter she always has one, and so of course I had to pass right by her ladyshipâs door.â

âGo on,â said Battle.

âAnd I heard her and Mr. Nevile going at it hammer and tongs. Voices right up. Shouting, he was. Oh, it was a proper quarrel!â

âRemember exactly what was said?â

âWell, I wasnât really listening as you might say.â

âNo. But still you must have heard some of the words.â

âHer ladyship was saying as she wouldnât have something or other going on in her house and Mr. Nevile was saying, âDonât you dare say anything against her.â All worked up he was.â

Battle, with an expressionless face, tried once more, but he could get no more out of her. In the end he dismissed the woman.

He and Jim looked at each other. Leach said, after a minute or two:

âJones ought to be able to tell us something about those prints by now.â

Battle asked:

âWhoâs doing the rooms?â

âWilliams. Heâs a good man. He wonât miss anything.â

âYouâre keeping the occupants out of them?â

âYes, until Williams has finished.â

The door opened at that minute and young Williams put his head in.

âThereâs something Iâd like you to see. In Mr. Nevile Strangeâs room.â

They got up and followed him to the suite on the west side of the house.

Williams pointed to a heap on the floor. A dark blue coat, trousers and waistcoat.

Leach said sharply:

âWhere did you find this?â

âBundled down into the bottom of the wardrobe. Just look at this, sir.â

He picked up the coat and showed the edges of the dark blue cuffs.

âSee those dark stains? Thatâs blood, sir, or Iâm a Dutchman. And see here, itâs spattered all up the sleeve.â

âHâm.â Battle avoided the otherâs eager eyes. âLooks bad for young Nevile, I must say. Any other suit in the room?â

âDark grey pinstripe hanging over a chair. Lot of water on the floor here by the washbasin.â

âLooking as though he washed the blood off himself in the devil of a hurry? Yes. Itâs near the open window, though, and the rain has come in a good deal.â

âNot enough to make those pools on the floor, sir. Theyâre not dried up yet.â

Battle was silent. A picture was forming itself before his eyes. A man with blood on his hands and sleeves, flinging off his clothes, bundling the bloodstained garments into the cupboard, sluicing water furiously over his hands and bare arms.

He looked across at a door in the other wall.

Williams answered the look.

âMrs. Strangeâs room, sir. The door is locked.â

âLocked? On this side?â

âNo. On the other.â

âOn her side, eh?â

Battle was reflective for a minute or two. He said at last:

âLetâs see that old butler again.â

Hurstall was nervous. Leach said crisply:

âWhy didnât you tell us, Hurstall, that you overheard a quarrel between Mr. Strange and Lady Tressilian last night?â

The old man blinked.

âI really didnât think twice about it, sir. I donât imagine it was what youâd call a quarrelâjust an amicable difference of opinion.â

Resisting the temptation to say, âAmicable difference of opinion my foot!â Leach went on:

âWhat suit was Mr. Strange wearing last night at dinner?â

Hurstall hesitated. Battle said quietly:

âDark blue suit or grey pinstripe? I dare say someone else can tell us if you donât remember.â

Hurstall broke his silence.

âI remember now, sir. It was his dark blue. The family,â he added, anxious not to lose prestige, âhave not been in the habit of changing into evening dress during the summer months. They frequently go out after dinnerâsometimes in the garden, sometimes down to the quay.â

Battle nodded. Hurstall left the room. He passed Jones in the doorway. Jones looked excited.

He said:

âItâs a cinch, sir. Iâve got all their prints. Thereâs only one lot fills the bill. Of course Iâve only been able to make a rough comparison as yet, but Iâll bet theyâre the right ones.â

âWell?â said Battle.

âThe prints on that niblick, sir, were made by Mr. Nevile Strange.â

Battle leaned back in his chair.

âWell,â he said, âthat seems to settle it, doesnât it?â

IV

They were in the Chief Constableâs officeâthree men with grave worried faces.

Major Mitchell said with a sigh:

âWell, I suppose thereâs nothing to be done but arrest him?â

Leach said quietly:

âLooks like it, sir.â

Mitchell looked across at Superintendent Battle.

âCheer up, Battle,â he said kindly. âYour best friend isnât dead.â

Superintendent Battle sighed.

âI donât like it,â he said.

âI donât think any of us like it,â said Mitchell. âBut weâve ample evidence, I think, to apply for a warrant.â

âMore than ample,â said Battle.

âIn fact if we donât apply for one, anybody might ask why the dickens not?â

Battle nodded an unhappy head.

âLetâs go over it,â said the Chief Constable. âYouâve got motiveâStrange and his wife come into a considerable sum of money at the old ladyâs death. Heâs the last person known to have seen her aliveâhe was heard quarrelling with her. The suit he wore that night had bloodstains on it, of course, most damning of all, his fingerprints were found on the actual weaponâand no one elseâs.â

âAnd yet sir,â said Battle, âyou donât like it either.â

âIâm damned if I do.â

âWhat is it exactly you donât like about it, sir?â

Major Mitchell rubbed his nose. âMakes the fellow out a bit too much of a fool, perhaps?â he suggested.

âAnd yet, sir, they do behave like fools sometimes.â

âOh I knowâI know. Where would we be if they didnât?â

Battle said to Leach:

âWhat donât you like about it, Jim?â

Leach stirred unhappily.

âIâve always liked Mr. Strange. Seen him on and off down here for years. Heâs a nice gentlemanâand heâs a sportsman.â

âI donât see,â said Battle slowly, âwhy a good tennis player shouldnât be a murderer as well. Thereâs nothing against it.â He paused. âWhat I donât like is the niblick.â

âThe niblick?â asked Mitchell, slightly puzzled.

âYes, sir, or alternatively, the bell. The bell or the niblickânot both.â

He went on in his slow careful voice.

âWhat do we think actually happened? Did Mr. Strange go to her room, have a quarrel, lose his temper, and hit her over the head with a niblick? If so, and it was unpremeditated, how did he happen to have a niblick with him? Itâs not the sort of thing you carry about with you in the evenings.â

âHe might have been practising swingsâsomething like that.â

âHe mightâbut nobody says so. Nobody saw him doing it. The last time anybody saw him with a niblick in his hand was about a week previously when he was practising sand shots down on the sands. As I look at it, you see, you canât have it both ways. Either there was a quarrel and he lost his temperâand, mind you, Iâve seen him on the courts, and in one of these tournament matches these tennis stars are all het up and a mass of nerves, and if their tempers fray easily itâs going to show. Iâve never seen Mr. Strange ruffled. I should say heâd got an excellent control over his temperâbetter than mostâand yet weâre suggesting that he goes berserk and hits a frail old lady over the head.â

âThereâs another alternative, Battle,â said the Chief Constable.

âI know, sir. The theory that it was premeditated. He wanted the old ladyâs money. That fits in with the bellâwhich entailed the doping of the maidâbut it doesnât fit in with the niblick and the quarrel! If heâd made up his mind to do her in, heâd be very careful not to quarrel with her. He could dope the maid, creep into her room in the nightâcrack her over the head and stage a nice little robbery, wiping the niblick and putting it carefully back where it belonged! Itâs all wrong, sirâitâs a mixture of cold premeditation and unpremeditated violenceâand the two donât mix!â

âThereâs something in what you say, Battleâbutâwhatâs the alternative?â

âItâs the niblick that takes my fancy, sir.â

âNobody could have hit her over the head with that niblick without disturbing Nevileâs printsâthatâs quite certain.â

âIn that case,â said Superintendent Battle, âshe was hit over the head with something else.â

Major Mitchell drew a deep breath.

âThatâs rather a wild assumption, isnât it?â

âI think itâs common sense, sir. Either Strange hit her with that niblick or nobody did. I plump for nobody. In that case that niblick was put there deliberately and blood and hair smeared on it. Dr. Lazenby doesnât like the niblick muchâhad to accept it because it was the obvious thing and because he couldnât say definitely that it hadnât been used.â

Major Mitchell leaned back in his chair.

âGo on, Battle,â he said. âIâm giving you a free hand. Whatâs the next step?â

âTake away the niblick,â said Battle, âand what is left? First, motive. Had Nevile Strange really got a motive for doing away with Lady Tressilian? He inherited moneyâa lot depends to my mind on whether he needed that money. He says not. I suggest we verify that. Find out the state of his finances. If heâs in a hole financially, and needs money, then the case against him is very much strengthened. If, on the other hand, he was speaking the truth and his finances are in a good state, why thenââ

âWell, what then?â

âWhy then, we might have a look at the motives of the other people in the house.â

âYou think, then, that Nevile Strange was framed?â

Superintendent Battle screwed up his eyes.

âThereâs a phrase I read somewhere that tickled my fancy. Something about a fine Italian hand. Thatâs what I seem to see in this business. Ostensibly itâs a blunt brutal straightforward crime, but it seems to me I catch glimpses of something elseâof a fine Italian hand at work behind the scenesâ¦.â

There was a long pause while the Chief Constable looked at Battle. âYou may be right,â he said at last. âDash it all, thereâs something funny about this business. Whatâs your idea, now, of our plan of campaign?â

Battle stroked his square jaw.

âWell, sir,â he said. âIâm always in favour of going about things the obvious way. Everythingâs been set to make us suspicious of Mr. Nevile Strange. Letâs go on being suspicious of him. Neednât go so far as actually to arrest him, but hint at it, question him, put the wind up himâand observe everybodyâs reaction generally. Verify his statements, go over his movements that night with a toothcomb. In fact, show our hand as plainly as may be.â

âQuite Machiavellian,â said Major Mitchell with a twinkle. âImitation of a heavy-handed policeman by star actor Battle.â

The Superintendent smiled.

âI always like doing whatâs expected of me, sir. This time I mean to be a bit slow about itâtake my time. I want to do some nosing about. Being suspicious of Mr. Nevile Strange is a very good excuse for nosing about. Iâve an idea, you know, that something rather odd has been going on in that house.â

âLooking for the sex angle?â

âIf you like to put it that way, sir.â

âHandle it your own way, Battle. You and Leach carry on between you.â

âThank you, sir.â Battle stood up. âNothing suggestive from the solicitors?â

âNo, I rang them up. I know Trelawny fairly well. Heâs sending me a copy of Sir Matthewâs will and also of Lady Tressilianâs. She had about five hundred a year of her ownâinvested in gilt-edged securities. She left a legacy to Barrett and a small one to Hurstall, the rest to Mary Aldin.â

âThatâs three we might keep an eye on,â said Battle.

Mitchell looked amused.

âSuspicious fellow, arenât you?â

âNo use letting oneself be hypnotized by fifty thousand pounds,â said Battle stolidly. âMany a murder has been done for less than fifty pounds. It depends on how much you want the money. Barrett got a legacyâand maybe she took the precaution to dope herself so as to avert suspicion.â

âShe very nearly passed out. Lazenby hasnât let us question her yet.â

âOverdid it out of ignorance, perhaps. Then Hurstall may have been in bad need of cash for all we know. And Miss Aldin, if sheâs no money of her own, might have fancied a bit of life on a nice little income before sheâs too old to enjoy it.â

The Chief Constable looked doubtful.

âWell,â he said, âitâs up to you two. Get on with the job.â

V

Back at Gullâs Point, the two police officers received Williamsâ and Jonesâ reports.

Nothing of a suspicious nature had been found in any of the bedrooms. The servants were clamouring to be allowed to get on with the housework. Should he give them the word?

âMight as well, I suppose,â said Battle. âIâll just have a stroll myself first through the two upper floors. Rooms that havenât been done very often tell you something about their occupants thatâs useful to know.â

Sergeant Jones put down a small cardboard box on the table.

âFrom Mr. Nevile Strangeâs dark blue coat,â he announced. âThe red hairs were on the cuff, blonde hairs on the inside of the collar and the right shoulder.â

Battle took out the two long red hairs and the half-dozen blonde ones and looked at them. He said, with a faint twinkle in his eye:

âConvenient. One blonde, one red head and one brunette in this house. So we know where we are at once. Red hair on the cuff, blonde on the collar? Mr. Nevile Strange does seem to be a bit of a Bluebeard. His arm round one wife and the other oneâs head on his shoulder.â

âThe blood on the sleeve has gone for analysis, sir. Theyâll ring us up as soon as they get the result.â

Leach nodded.

âWhat about the servants?â

âI followed your instructions, sir. None of them is under notice to leave, or seems likely to have borne a grudge against the old lady. She was strict, but well liked. In any case the management of the servants lay with Miss Aldin. She seems to have been popular with them.â

âThought she was an efficient woman the moment I laid eyes on her,â said Battle. âIf sheâs our murderess, she wonât be easy to hang.â

Jones looked startled.

âBut those prints on that niblick, sir, wereââ

âI knowâI know,â said Battle. âThe singularly obliging Mr. Strangeâs. Thereâs a general belief that athletes arenât overburdened with brains (not at all true, by the way) but I canât believe Nevile Strange is a complete moron. What about those senna pods of the maidâs?â

âThey were always on the shelf in the servantsâ bathroom on the second floor. She used to put âem in to soak midday, and they stood there until the evening when she went to bed.â

âSo that absolutely anybody could get at them! Anybody inside the house, that is to say.â

Leach said with conviction:

âItâs an inside job all right!â

âYes, I think so. Not that this is one of those closed circle crimes. It isnât. Anyone who had a key could have opened the front door and walked in. Nevile Strange had that key last nightâbut it would probably be a simple matter to have got one cut, or an old hand could do it with a bit of wire. But I donât see any outsider knowing about the bell and that Barrett took senna at night! Thatâs local inside knowledge!

âCome along, Jim, my boy. Letâs go up and see this bathroom and all the rest of it.â

They started on the top floor. First came a boxroom full of old broken furniture and junk of all kinds.

âI havenât looked through this, sir,â said Jones. âI didnât knowââ

âWhat you were looking for? Quite right. Only waste of time. From the dust on the floor nobody has been in here for at least six months.â

The servantsâ rooms were all on this floor, also two unoccupied bedrooms with a bathroom, and Battle looked into each room and gave it a cursory glance, noticing that Alice, the pop-eyed housemaid, slept with her window shut; that Emma, the thin one, had a great many relations, photographs of whom were crowded on her chest of drawers, and that Hurstall had one or two pieces of good, though cracked, Dresden and Crown Derby porcelain.

The cookâs room was severely neat and the kitchen maidâs chaotically untidy. Battle passed on into the bathroom which was the room nearest to the head of the stairs. Williams pointed out the long shelf over the washbasin, on which stood tooth glasses and brushes, various unguents and bottles of salts and hair lotion. A packet of senna pods stood open at one end.

âNo prints on the glass or packet?â

âOnly the maidâs own. I got hers from her room.â

âHe didnât need to handle the glass,â said Leach. âHeâd only have to drop the stuff in.â

Battle went down the stairs followed by Leach. Halfway down this top flight was a rather awkwardly placed window. A pole with a hook on the end stood in a corner.

âYou draw down the top sash with that,â explained Leach. âBut thereâs a burglar screw. The window can be drawn down, only so far. Too narrow for anyone to get in that way.â

âI wasnât thinking of anyone getting in,â said Battle. His eyes were thoughtful.

He went in the first bedroom on the next floor, which was Audrey Strangeâs. It was neat and fresh, ivory brushes on the dressing tableâno clothes lying about. Battle looked into the wardrobe. Two plain coats and skirts, a couple of evening dresses, one or two summer frocks. The dresses were cheap, the tailor-mades well cut and expensive, but not new.

Battle nodded. He stood at the writing table a minute or two, fiddling with the pen tray on the left of the blotter.

Williams said: âNothing of any interest on the blotting paper or in the waste paper basket.â

âYour wordâs good enough,â said Battle. âNothing to be seen here.â

They went on to the other rooms.

Thomas Roydeâs was untidy, with clothes lying about. Pipes and pipe ash on the tables and beside the bed, where a copy of Kiplingâs Kim lay half open.

âUsed to native servants clearing up after him,â said Battle. âLikes reading old favourites. Conservative type.â

Mary Aldinâs room was small but comfortable. Battle looked at the travel books on the shelves and the old-fashioned dented silver brushes. The furnishings and colouring in the room were more modern than the rest of the house.

âSheâs not so conservative,â said Battle. âNo photographs either. Not one who lives in the past.â

There were three or four empty rooms, all well kept and dusted ready for occupation, and a couple of bathrooms. Then came Lady Tressilianâs big double room. After that, reached by going down three little steps, came the two rooms and bathroom occupied by the Stranges.

Battle did not waste much time in Nevileâs room. He glanced out of the open casement window below which the rocks fell sheer to the sea. The view was to the west, towards Stark Head, which rose wild and forbidding out of the water.

âGets the afternoon sun,â he murmured. âBut rather a grim morning outlook. Nasty smell of seaweed at low tide, too. And that headland has got a grim look. Donât wonder it attracts suicides!â

He passed into the larger room, the door of which had been unlocked.

Here everything was in wild confusion. Clothes lay about in heapsâfilmy underwear, stockings, jumpers tried on and discardedâa patterned summer frock thrown sprawling over the back of a chair. Battle looked inside the wardrobe. It was full of furs, evening dresses, shorts, tennis frocks, playsuits.

Battle shut the doors again almost reverently.

âExpensive tastes,â he remarked. âShe must cost her husband a lot of money.â

Leach said darkly:

âPerhaps thatâs whyââ

He left the sentence unfinished.

âWhy he needed a hundredâor rather fifty thousand pounds? Maybe. Weâd better see, I think, what he has to say about it.â

They went down to the library. Williams was despatched to tell the servants they could get on with the housework. The family were free to return to their rooms if they wished. They were to be informed of that fact and also that Inspector Leach would like an interview with each of them separately, starting with Mr. Nevile Strange.

When Williams had gone out of the room, Battle and Leach established themselves behind a massive Victorian table. A young policeman with notebook sat in the corner of the room, his pencil poised.

Battle said:

âYou carry on for a start, Jim. Make it impressive.â As the other nodded his head, Battle rubbed his chin and frowned.

âI wish I knew what keeps putting Hercule Poirot into my head.â

âYou mean that old chapâthe Belgianâcomic little guy?â

âComic my foot,â said Superintendent Battle. âAbout as dangerous as a black mamba and a she-leopardâthatâs what he is when he starts making a mountebank of himself! I wish he was hereâthis sort of thing would be right up his street.â

âIn what way?â

âPsychology,â said Battle. âReal psychologyânot the half-baked stuff people hand out who know nothing about it.â His memory dwelt resentfully on Miss Amphrey and his daughter Sylvia. âNoâthe real genuine articleâknowing just what makes the wheels go round. Keep a murderer talkingâthatâs one of his lines. Says everyone is bound to speak whatâs true sooner or laterâbecause in the end itâs easier than telling lies. And so they make some little slip they donât think mattersâand thatâs when you get them.â

âSo youâre going to give Nevile Strange plenty of rope?â

Battle gave an absentminded assent. Then he added, in some annoyance and perplexity:

âBut whatâs really worrying me isâwhat put Hercule Poirot into my head? Upstairsâthatâs where it was. Now what did I see that reminded me of that little guy?â

The conversation was put to an end by the arrival of Nevile Strange.

He looked pale and worried, but much less nervous than he had done at the breakfast table. Battle eyed him keenly. Incredible that a man who knewâand he must know if he were capable of any thought processes at allâthat he had left his fingerprints on the instrument of the crimeâand who had since had his fingerprints taken by the policeâshould show neither intense nervousness nor elaborate brazening of it out.

Nevile Strange looked quite naturalâshocked, worried, grievedâand just slightly and healthily nervous.

Jim Leach was speaking in his pleasant west country voice.

âWe would like you to answer certain questions, Mr. Strange. Both as to your movements last night, and in reference to particular facts. At the same time I must caution you that you are not bound to answer these questions unless you like and that if you prefer to do so you may have your solicitor present.â

He leaned back to observe the effect of this.

Nevile Strange looked, quite plainly, bewildered.

âHe hasnât the least idea what weâre getting at, or else heâs a damned good actor,â Leach thought to himself. Aloud he said, as Nevile did not answer, âWell, Mr. Strange?â

Nevile said: âOf course, ask me anything you like.â

âYou realize,â said Battle pleasantly, âthat anything you say will be taken down in writing and may subsequently be used in a court of law in evidence.â

A flash of temper showed on Strangeâs face. He said sharply:

âAre you threatening me?â

âNo, no, Mr. Strange. Warning you.â

Nevile shrugged his shoulders.

âI suppose all this is part of your routine. Go ahead.â

âYou are ready to make a statement?â

âIf thatâs what you call it.â

âThen will you tell us exactly what you did last night? From dinner onwards, shall we say?â

âCertainly. After dinner we went into the drawing room. We had coffee. We listened to the wirelessâthe news and so on. Then I decided to go across to Easterhead Bay Hotel and look up a chap who is staying thereâa friend of mine.â

âThat friendâs name is?â

âLatimer. Edward Latimer.â

âAn intimate friend?â

âOh, so-so. Weâve seen a good deal of him since heâs been down here. Heâs been over to lunch and dinner and weâve been over there.â

Battle said:

âRather late, wasnât it, to go off to Easterhead Bay?â

âOh, itâs a gay spotâthey keep it up till all hours.â

âBut this is rather an early-to-bed household, isnât it?â

âYes, on the whole. However, I took the latchkey with me. Nobody had to sit up.â

âYour wife didnât think of going with you?â

There was a slight change, a stiffening in Nevileâs tone as he said:

âNo, she had a headache. Sheâd already gone up to bed.â

âPlease go on, Mr. Strange.â

âI was just going up to changeââ

Leach interrupted.

âExcuse me, Mr. Strange. Change into what? Into evening dress, or out of evening dress?â

âNeither. I was wearing a blue suitâmy best, as it happened, and as it was raining a bit and I proposed to take the ferry and walk the other sideâitâs about half a mile, as you knowâI changed into an older suitâa grey pinstripe, if you want me to go into every detail.â

âWe do like to get things clear,â said Leach humbly. âPlease go on.â

âI was going upstairs, as I say, when Barrett came and told me Lady Tressilian wanted to see me, so I went along and had a jaw with her for a bit.â

Battle said gently:

âYou were the last person to see her alive, I think, Mr. Strange?â

Nevile flushed.

âYesâyesâI suppose I was. She was quite all right then.â

âHow long were you with her?â

âAbout twenty minutes to half an hour, I should think, then I went to my room, changed my suit and hurried off. I took the latchkey with me.â

âWhat time was that?â

âAbout half past ten, I should think. I hurried down the hill, just caught the ferry starting and went across to the Easterhead side. I found Latimer at the Hotel, we had a drink or two and a game of billiards. The time passed so quickly that I found Iâd lost the last ferry back. It goes at one thirty. So Latimer very decently got out his car and drove me back. That, as you know, means going all the way round by Saltingtonâsixteen miles. We left the Hotel at two oâclock and got back here somewhere around half past, I should say. I thanked Ted Latimer, asked him in for a drink, but he said heâd rather get straight back, so I let myself in and went straight up to bed. I didnât see or hear anything amiss. The house seemed all asleep and peaceful. Then this morning I heard that girl screaming andââ

Leach stopped him.

âQuite, quite. Now to go back a littleâto your conversation with Lady Tressilianâshe was quite normal in her manner?â

âOh, absolutely.â

âWhat did you talk about?â

âOh, one thing and another.â

âAmicably?â

Nevile flushed.

âCertainly.â

âYou didnât, for instance,â went on Leach smoothly, âhave a violent quarrel?â

Nevile did not answer at once. Leach said:

âYou had better tell the truth, you know. Iâll tell you frankly some of your conversation was overheard.â

Nevile said shortly:

âWe had a bit of a disagreement. It was nothing.â

âWhat was the subject of the disagreement?â

With an effort Nevile recovered his temper. He smiled. âFrankly,â he said, âshe ticked me off. That often happened. If she disapproved of anyone she let them have it straight from the shoulder. She was old-fashioned, you see, and she was inclined to be down on modern ways and modern lines of thoughtâdivorceâall that. We had an argument and I may have got a bit heated, but we parted on perfectly friendly termsâagreeing to differ.â He added, with some heat, âI certainly didnât bash her over the head because I lost my temper over an argumentâif thatâs what you think!â

Leach glanced at Battle. Battle leaned forward ponderously across the table. He said:

âYou recognized that niblick as your property this morning. Have you any explanation for the fact that your fingerprints were found upon it?â

Nevile stared. He said sharply:

âIâbut of course they would beâitâs my clubâIâve often handled it.â

âAny explanation, I mean, for the fact that your fingerprints show that you were the last person to have handled it?â

Nevile sat quite still. The colour had gone out of his face.

âThatâs not true,â he said at last. âIt canât be. Somebody could have handled it after meâsomeone wearing gloves.â

âNo, Mr. Strangeânobody could have handled it in the sense you meanâby raising it to strikeâwithout blurring your own marks.â

There was a pauseâa very long pause.

âOh, God,â said Nevile convulsively, and gave a long shudder. He put his hands over his eyes. The two policemen watched him.

Then he took away his hands. He sat up straight.

âIt isnât true,â he said quietly. âIt simply isnât true. You think I killed her, but I didnât. I swear I didnât. Thereâs some horrible mistake.â

âYouâve no explanation to offer about these fingerprints?â

âHow can I have? Iâm dumbfounded.â

âHave you any explanation for the fact that the sleeves and cuffs of your dark blue suit are stained with blood?â

âBlood?â It was a horror-struck whisper. âIt couldnât be!â

âYou didnât, for instance, cut yourselfââ

âNo. No, of course I didnât!â

They waited a little while.

Nevile Strange, his forehead creased, seemed to be thinking. He looked up at them at last with frightened horror-stricken eyes.

âItâs fantastic!â he said. âSimply fantastic. Itâs none of it true.â

âFacts are true enough,â said Superintendent Battle.

âBut why should I do such a thing? Itâs unthinkableâunbelievable! Iâve known Camilla all my life.â

Leach coughed.

âI believe you told us yourself, Mr. Strange, that you come into a good deal of money upon Lady Tressilianâs death?â

âYou think thatâs whyâBut I donât want money! I donât need it!â

âThat,â said Leach, with his little cough, âis what you say, Mr. Strange.â

Nevile sprang up.

âLook here, thatâs something I can prove. That I didnât need money. Let me ring up my bank managerâyou can talk to him yourself.â

The call was put through. The line was clear and in a very few minutes they were through to London. Nevile spoke:

âThat you, Ronaldson? Nevile Strange speaking. You know my voice. Look here, will you give the policeâtheyâre here nowâall the information they want about my affairsâyesâyes, please.â

Leach took the phone. He spoke quietly. It went on, question and answer.

He replaced the phone at last.

âWell?â said Nevile eagerly.

Leach said impassively:

âYou have a substantial credit balance, and the Bank have charge of all your investments and report them to be in a favourable condition.â

âSo you see itâs true what I said!â

âIt seems soâbut again, Mr. Strange, you may have commitments, debtsâpayment of blackmailâreasons for requiring money of which we do not know.â

âBut I havenât! I assure you I havenât. You wonât find anything of that kind.â

Superintendent Battle shifted his heavy shoulders. He spoke in a kind, fatherly voice.

âWeâve sufficient evidence, as Iâm sure youâll agree, Mr. Strange, to ask for a warrant for your arrest. We havenât done soâas yet. Weâre giving you the benefit of the doubt, you see.â

Nevile said bitterly: âYou mean, donât you, that youâve made up your minds I did it, but you want to get at the motive so as to clinch the case against me?â

Battle was silent. Leach looked at the ceiling.

Nevile said desperately:

âItâs like some awful dream. Thereâs nothing I can say or do. Itâs likeâlike being in a trap and you canât get out.â

Superintendent Battle stirred. An intelligent gleam showed between his half-closed lids.

âThatâs very nicely put,â he said. âVery nicely put indeed. It gives me an ideaâ¦.â

VI

Sergeant Jones adroitly got rid of Nevile through the hall and then brought Kay in by the french window so that husband and wife did not meet.

âHeâll see all the others, though,â Leach remarked.

âAll the better,â said Battle. âItâs only this one I want to deal with whilst sheâs still in the dark.â

The day was overcast with a sharp wind. Kay was dressed in a tweed skirt and a purple sweater, above which her hair looked like a burnished copper bowl. She looked half frightened, half excited. Her beauty and vitality bloomed against the dark Victorian background of books and saddleback chairs.

Leach led her easily enough over her account of the previous evening.

She had had a headache and gone to bed earlyâabout quarter past nine, she thought. She had slept heavily and heard nothing until the next morning, when she was wakened by hearing someone screaming.

Battle took up the questioning.

âYour husband didnât come in to see how you were before he went off for the evening?â

âNo.â

âYou didnât see him from the time you left the drawing room until the following morning. Is that right?â

Kay nodded.

Battle stroked his jaw.

âMrs. Strange, the door between your room and that of your husband was locked. Who locked it?â

Kay said shortly: âI did.â

Battle said nothingâbut he waitedâwaited like an elderly fatherly catâfor a mouse to come out of the hole he was watching.

His silence did what questions might not have accomplished. Kay burst out impetuously:

âOh, I suppose youâve got to have it all! That old doddering Hurstall must have heard us before tea and heâll tell you if I donât. Heâs probably told you already. Nevile and I had had a rowâa flaming row! I was furious with him! I went up to bed and locked the door, because I was still in a flaming rage with him!â

âI seeâI see,â said Battle, at his most sympathetic. âAnd what was the trouble all about?â

âDoes it matter? Oh, I donât mind telling you. Nevile has been behaving like a perfect idiot. Itâs all that womanâs fault, though.â

âWhat woman?â

âHis first wife. She got him to come here in the first place.â

âYou meanâto meet you?â

âYes. Nevile thinks it was all his own ideaâpoor innocent! But it wasnât. He never thought of such a thing until he met her in the Park one day and she got the idea into his head and made him believe heâd thought of it himself. He quite honestly thinks it was his idea, but Iâve seen Audreyâs fine Italian hand behind it from the first.â

âWhy should she do such a thing?â asked Battle.

âBecause she wanted to get hold of him again,â said Kay. She spoke quickly and her breath came fast. âSheâs never forgiven him for going off with me. This is her revenge. She got him to fix up that weâd all be here together and then she got to work on him. Sheâs been doing it ever since we arrived. Sheâs clever, you know. Knows just how to look pathetic and elusiveâyes, and how to play up another man, too. She got Thomas Royde, a faithful old dog whoâs always adored her, to be here at the same time, and she drove Nevile mad by pretending she was going to marry him.â

She stopped, breathing angrily.

Battle said mildly:

âI should have thought heâd be glad for her toâerâfind happiness with an old friend.â

âGlad? Heâs as jealous as Hell!â

âThen he must be very fond of her.â

âOh, he is,â said Kay bitterly. âSheâs seen to that!â

Battleâs finger still ran dubiously over his jaw.

âYou might have objected to this arrangement of coming here,â he suggested.

âHow could I? It would have looked as though I were jealous!â

âWell,â said Battle, âafter all, you were, werenât you?â

Kay flushed.

âAlways! Iâve always been jealous of Audrey. Right from the beginningâor nearly the beginning. I used to feel her there in the house. It was as though it were her house, not mine. I changed the colour scheme and did it all up but it was no good! Iâd feel her there like a grey ghost creeping about. I knew Nevile worried because he thought heâd treated her badly. He couldnât quite forget about herâshe was always thereâa reproachful feeling at the back of his mind. There are people, you know, who are like that. They seem rather colourless and not very interestingâbut they make themselves felt.â

Battle nodded thoughtfully. He said:

âWell, thank you, Mrs. Strange. Thatâs all at present. We have to askâerâa good many questionsâespecially with your husband inheriting so much money from Lady Tressilianâfifty thousand poundsââ

âIs it as much as that? We get it from old Sir Matthewâs will, donât we?â

âYou know all about it?â

âOh yes. He left it to be divided between Nevile and Nevileâs wife after Lady Tressilianâs death. Not that Iâm glad the old thing is dead. Iâm not. I didnât like her very muchâprobably because she didnât like meâbut itâs too horrible to think of some burglar coming along and cracking her head open.â

She went out on that. Battle looked at Leach.

âWhat do you think of her? Good-looking bit of goods, I will say. A man could lose his head over her easy enough.â

Leach agreed.

âDoesnât seem to me quite a lady, though,â he said dubiously.

âThey arenât nowadays,â said Battle. âShall we see No. 1? No, I think weâll have Miss Aldin next, and get an outside angle on this matrimonial business.â

Mary Aldin came in composedly and sat down. Beneath her outward calmness her eyes looked worried.

She answered Leachâs questions clearly enough, confirming Nevileâs account of the evening. She had come up to bed about ten oâclock.

âMr. Strange was then with Lady Tressilian?â

âYes, I could hear them talking.â

âTalking, Miss Aldin, or quarrelling?â

She flushed but answered quietly:

âLady Tressilian, you know, was fond of discussion. She often sounded acrimonious when she was really nothing of the kind. Also, she was inclined to be autocratic and to domineer over peopleâand a man doesnât take that kind of thing as easily as a woman does.â

âAs you do, perhaps,â thought Battle.

He looked at her intelligent face. It was she who broke the silence.

âI donât want to be stupidâbut it really seems to me incredibleâquite incredible, that you should suspect one of the people in this house. Why shouldnât it be an outsider?â

âFor several reasons, Miss Aldin. For one thing, nothing was taken and no entry was forced. I neednât remind you of the geography of your own house and grounds, but just bear this in mind. On the west is a sheer cliff down to the sea, to the south are a couple of terraces with a wall and a drop to the sea, on the east the garden slopes down almost to the shore, but it is surrounded by a high wall. The only ways out are a small door leading through on to the road which was found bolted inside as usual this morning and the main door to the house, which is set on the road. Iâm not saying no one could climb that wall, nor that they could not have got in by using a spare key to the front door or even a skeleton keyâbut Iâm saying that as far as I can see no one did anything of the sort. Whoever committed this crime knew that Barrett took senna pod decoction every night, and doped itâthat means someone in the house. The niblick was taken from the cupboard under the stairs. It wasnât an outsider, Miss Aldin.â

âIt wasnât Nevile! Iâm sure it wasnât Nevile!â

âWhy are you so sure?â

She raised her hands hopelessly.

âIt just isnât like himâthatâs why! He wouldnât kill a defence-less old woman in bedâNevile!â

âIt doesnât seem very likely,â said Battle reasonably, âbut youâd be surprised at the things people do when theyâve got a good enough reason. Mr. Strange may have wanted money very badly.â

âIâm sure he didnât. Heâs not an extravagant personâhe never has been.â

âNo, but his wife is.â

âKay? Yes, perhapsâbut oh, itâs too ridiculous. Iâm sure the last thing Nevile has been thinking of lately is money.â

Superintendent Battle coughed.

âHeâs had other worries, I understand?â

âKay told you, I suppose? Yes, it really has been rather difficult. Still, itâs nothing to do with this dreadful business.â

âProbably not, but all the same Iâd like to hear your version of the affair, Miss Aldin.â

Mary said slowly: âWell, as I say, it has created a difficultâsituation. Whosoeverâs idea it was to begin withââ

He interrupted her deftly.

âI understood it was Mr. Nevile Strangeâs idea?â

âHe said it was.â

âBut you yourself didnât think so?â

âIânoâit isnât like Nevile somehow. Iâve had a feeling all along that somebody else put the idea into his head.â

âMrs. Audrey Strange, perhaps?â

âIt seems incredible that Audrey should do such a thing.â

âThen who else could it have been?â

Mary raised her shoulders helplessly.

âI donât know. Itâs justâqueer.â

âQueer,â said Battle thoughtfully. âThatâs what I feel about this case. Itâs queer.â

âEverythingâs been queer. Thereâs been a feelingâI canât describe it. Something in the air. A menace.â

âEverybody strung up and on edge?â

âYes, just thatâ¦Weâve all suffered from it. Even Mr. Latimerââ She stopped.

âI was just coming to Mr. Latimer. What can you tell me, Miss Aldin, about Mr. Latimer? Who is Mr. Latimer?â

âWell, really, I donât know much about him. Heâs a friend of Kayâs.â

âHeâs Mrs. Strangeâs friend. Known each other a long time?â

âYes, she knew him before her marriage.â

âMr. Strange like him?â

âQuite well, I believe.â

âNoâtrouble there?â

Battle put it delicately. Mary replied at once and emphatically: âCertainly not!â

âDid Lady Tressilian like Mr. Latimer?â

âNot very much.â

Battle took warning from the aloof tone of her voice and changed the subject.

âThis maid, now, Jane Barrett, she has been with Lady Tressilian a long time? You consider her trustworthy?â

âOh absolutely. She was devoted to Lady Tressilian.â

Battle leaned back in his chair.

âIn fact you wouldnât consider for a moment the possibility that Barrett hit Lady Tressilian over the head and then doped herself to avoid being suspected?â

âOf course not. Why on earth should she?â

âShe gets a legacy, you know.â

âSo do I,â said Mary Aldin.

She looked at him steadily.

âYes,â said Battle. âSo do you. Do you know how much?â

âMr. Trelawny has just arrived. He told me.â

âYou didnât know about it beforehand?â

âNo. I certainly assumed, from what Lady Tressilian occasionally let fall, that she had left me something. I have very little of my own, you know. Not enough to live on without getting work of some kind. I thought that Lady Tressilian would leave me at least a hundred a yearâbut she has some cousins, and I did not at all know how she proposed to leave that money which was hers to dispose of. I knew, of course, that Sir Matthewâs estate went to Nevile and Audrey.â

âSo she didnât know what Lady Tressilian was leaving her,â Leach said when Mary Aldin had been dismissed. âAt least thatâs what she says.â

âThatâs what she says,â agreed Battle. âAnd now for Bluebeardâs first wife.â

VII

Audrey was wearing a pale grey flannel coat and skirt. In it she looked so pale and ghostlike that Battle was reminded of Kayâs words, âa grey ghost creeping about the house.â

She answered his questions simply and without any signs of emotion.

Yes, she had gone to bed at ten oâclock, the same time as Miss Aldin. She had heard nothing during the night.

âYouâll excuse me butting into your private affairs,â said Battle, âbut will you explain just how it comes about that you are here in the house?â

âI always come to stay at this time. This year, myâmy late husband wanted to come at the same time and asked me if I would mind.â

âIt was his suggestion?â

âOh yes.â

âNot yours?â

âOh no.â

âBut you agreed?â

âYes, I agreedâ¦I didnât feelâthat I could very well refuse.â

âWhy not, Mrs. Strange?â

But she was vague.

âOne doesnât like to be disobliging.â

âYou were the injured party?â

âI beg your pardon?â

âIt was you who divorced your husband?â

âYes.â

âDo youâexcuse meâfeel any rancour against him?â

âNoânot at all.â

âYou have a very forgiving nature, Mrs. Strange.â

She did not answer. He tried silenceâbut Audrey was not Kay, to be thus goaded into speech. She could remain silent without any hint of uneasiness. Battle acknowledged himself beaten.

âYou are sure it was not your ideaâthis meeting?â

âQuite sure.â

âYou are on friendly terms with the present Mrs. Strange?â

âI donât think she likes me very much.â

âDo you like her?â

âYes. I think she is very beautiful.â

âWellâthank youâI think that is all.â

She got up and walked towards the door. Then she hesitated and came back.

âI would just like to sayââ she spoke nervously and quickly. âYou think Nevile did thisâthat he killed her because of the money. Iâm quite sure that isnât so. Nevile has never cared much about money. I do know that. I was married to him for eight years, you know. I just canât see him killing anyone like that for moneyâitâitâisnât Nevile. I know my saying so isnât of any value as evidenceâbut I do wish you could believe it.â

She turned and hurried out of the room.

âAnd what do you make of her?â asked Leach. âIâve never seen anyone soâso devoid of emotion.â

âShe didnât show any,â said Battle. âBut itâs there. Some very strong emotion. And I donât know what it isâ¦.â

VIII

Thomas Royde came last. He sat, solemn and stiff, blinking a little like an owl.

He was home from Malayaâfirst time for eight years. Had been in the habit of staying at Gullâs Point ever since he was a boy. Mrs. Audrey Strange was a distant cousinâand had been brought up by his family from the age of nine. On the preceding night he had gone to bed just before eleven. Yes, he had heard Mr. Nevile Strange leave the house but had not seen him. Nevile had left at about twenty past ten or perhaps a little later. He himself had heard nothing during the night. He was up and in the garden when the discovery of Lady Tressilianâs body had been made. He was an early riser.

There was a pause.

âMiss Aldin has told us that there was a state of tension in the house. Did you notice this too?â

âI donât think so. Donât notice things much.â

âThatâs a lie,â thought Battle to himself. âYou notice a good deal, I should sayâmore than most.â

No, he didnât think Nevile Strange had been short of money in any way. He certainly had not seemed so. But he knew very little about Mr. Strangeâs affairs.

âHow well did you know the second Mrs. Strange?â

âI met her here for the first time.â

Battle played his last card.

âYou may know, Mr. Royde, that weâve found Mr. Nevile Strangeâs fingerprints on the weapon. And weâve found blood on the sleeve of the coat he wore last night.â

He paused. Royde nodded.

âHe was telling us,â he muttered.

âIâm asking you frankly: Do you think he did it?â

Thomas Royde never liked to be hurried. He waited for a minuteâwhich is a very long timeâbefore he answered:

âDonât see why you ask me! Not my business. Itâs yours. Should say myselfâvery unlikely.â

âCan you think of anyone who seems to you more likely?â

Thomas shook his head.

âOnly person I think likely, canât possibly have done it. So thatâs that.â

âAnd who is that?â

But Royde shook his head more decidedly.

âCouldnât possibly say. Only my private opinion.â

âItâs your duty to assist the police.â

âTell you any facts. This isnât facts. Just an idea. And itâs impossible, anyway.â

âWe didnât get much out of him,â said Leach when Royde had gone.

Battle agreed.

âNo, we didnât. Heâs got something in his mindâsomething quite definite. Iâd like to know what it is. This is a very peculiar sort of crime, Jim, my boyââ

The telephone rang before Leach could answer. He took up the receiver and spoke. After a minute or two of listening he said âGood,â and slammed it down.

âBlood on the coat sleeve is human,â he announced. âSame blood group as Lady Tâs. Looks as though Nevile Strange is for itââ

Battle had walked over to the window and was looking out with considerable interest.

âA beautiful young man out there,â he remarked. âQuite beautiful and a definite wrong âun, I should say. Itâs a pity Mr. Latimerâfor I feel that thatâs Mr. Latimerâwas over at Easterhead Bay last night. Heâs the type that would smash in his own grandmotherâs head if he thought he could get away with it and if he knew heâd make something out of it.â

âWell, there wasnât anything in it for him,â said Leach. âLady Tâs death doesnât benefit him in any way whatever.â The telephone bell rang again. âDamn this phone, whatâs the matter now?â

He went to it.

âHullo. Oh, itâs you, doctor. What? Come round, has she? What? What?â

He turned his head. âUncle, just come and listen to this.â

Battle came over and took the phone. He listened, his face as usual showing no expression. He said to Leach:

âGet Nevile Strange, Jim.â

When Nevile came in, Battle was just replacing the phone on its hook.

Nevile, looking white and spent, stared curiously at the Scotland Yard superintendent, trying to read the emotion behind the wooden mask.

âMr. Strange,â said Battle. âDo you know anyone who dislikes you very much?â

Nevile stared and shook his head.

âSure?â Battle was impressive. âI mean, sir, someone who does more than dislike youâsomeone whoâfranklyâhates your guts?â

Nevile sat bolt upright.

âNo. No, certainly not. Nothing of the kind.â

âThink, Mr. Strange. Is there no one youâve injured in any wayâ?â

Nevile flushed.

âThereâs only one person I can be said to have injured and sheâs not the kind who bears rancour. Thatâs my first wife, when I left her for another woman. But I can assure you that she doesnât hate me. Sheâsâsheâs been an angel.â

The Superintendent leaned forward across the table.

âLet me tell you, Mr. Strange; youâre a very lucky man. I donât say I liked the case against youâI didnât. But it was a case! It would have stood up all right, and unless the jury happened to have liked your personality, it would have hanged you.â

âYou speak,â said Nevile, âas though all that were past?â

âIt is past,â said Battle. âYouâve been saved, Mr. Strange, by pure chance.â

Nevile still looked inquiringly at him.

âAfter you left her last night,â said Battle, âLady Tressilian rang the bell for her maid.â

He watched whilst Nevile took it in.

âAfter. Then Barrett saw herâ?â

âYes. Alive and well. Barrett also saw you leave the house before she went in to her mistress.â

Nevile said:

âBut the niblickâmy fingerprintsââ

âShe wasnât hit with that niblick. Dr. Lazenby didnât like it at the time. I saw that. She was killed with something else. That niblick was put there deliberately to throw suspicion on you. It may be by someone who overheard the quarrel and so selected you as a suitable victim, or it may be becauseââ

He paused, and then repeated his question:

âWho is there in this house that hates you, Mr. Strange?â

IX

âIâve got a question for you, doctor,â said Battle.

They were in the doctorâs house after returning from the nursing home, where they had had a short interview with Jane Barrett.

Barrett was weak and exhausted but quite clear in her statement.

She had just been getting into bed after drinking her senna when Lady Tressilianâs bell had rung. She had glanced at the clock and seen the timeâtwenty-five minutes past ten.

She had put on her dressing gown and come down. She had heard a noise in the hall below and had looked over the banisters.

âIt was Mr. Nevile just going out. He was taking his raincoat down from the hook.â

âWhat suit was he wearing?â

âHis grey pinstripe. His face was very worried and unhappy-looking. He shoved his arms into his coat as though he didnât care how he put it on. Then he went out and banged the front door behind him. I went on in to her ladyship. She was very drowsy, poor dear, and couldnât remember why she had rung for meâshe couldnât always, poor lady. But I beat up her pillows and brought her a fresh glass of water and settled her comfortably.â

âShe didnât seem upset or afraid of anything?â

âJust tired, thatâs all. I was tired myself. Yawning. I went up and went right off to sleep.â

That was Barrettâs story, and it seemed impossible to doubt her genuine grief and horror at the news of her mistressâs death.

They went back to Lazenbyâs house and it was then that Battle announced that he had a question to ask.

âAsk away,â said Lazenby.

âWhat time do you think Lady Tressilian died?â

âIâve told you. Between ten oâclock and midnight.â

âI know thatâs what you said. But it wasnât my question. I asked you what you, personally, thought.â

âOff the record, eh?â

âYes.â

âAll right. My guess would be in the neighbourhood of eleven oâclock.â

âThatâs what I wanted you to say,â said Battle.

âGlad to oblige. Why?â

âNever did like the idea of her being killed before ten twenty. Take Barrettâs sleeping draughtâit wouldnât have got to work by then. That sleeping draught shows that the murder was meant to be committed a good deal laterâduring the night. I prefer midnight, myself.â

âCould be. Eleven is only a guess.â

âBut it definitely couldnât be later than midnight?â

âNo.â

âIt couldnât be after two thirty?â

âGood heavens, no.â

âWell, that seems to let Strange out all right. Iâll just have to check up on his movements after he left the house. If heâs telling the truth heâs washed out and we can go on to our other suspects.â

âThe other people who inherit money?â suggested Leach.

âMaybe,â said Battle. âBut somehow, I donât think so. Someone with a kink, Iâm looking for.â

âA kink?â

âA nasty kink.â

Â 

When they left the doctorâs house they went on to the ferry. The ferry consisted of a rowing boat operated by two brothers, Will and George Barnes. The Barnes brothers knew everybody in Saltcreek by sight and most of the people who came over from Easterhead Bay. George said at once that Mr. Strange from Gullâs Point had gone across at ten thirty on the preceding night. No, he had not brought Mr. Strange back again. Last ferry had gone at one thirty from the Easterhead side and Mr. Strange wasnât on it.

Battle asked him if he knew Mr. Latimer.

âLatimer? Latimer? Tall handsome young gentleman? Comes over from the Hotel up to Gullâs Point? Yes, I know him. Didnât see him at all last night, though. Heâs been over this morning. Went back last trip.â

They crossed on the ferry and went up to the Easterhead Bay Hotel.

Here they found Mr. Latimer newly returned from the other side. He had crossed on the ferry before theirs.

Mr. Latimer was very anxious to do all he could to help.

âYes, old Nevile came over last night. Looked very blue over something. Told me heâd had a row with the old lady. I hear heâd fallen out with Kay too, but he didnât tell me that, of course. Anyway, he was a bit down in the mouth. Seemed quite glad of my company for once in a way.â

âHe wasnât able to find you at once, I understand?â

Latimer said sharply:

âDonât know why. I was sitting in the lounge. Strange said he looked in and didnât see me, but he wasnât in a state to concentrate. Or I may have strolled out into the gardens for five minutes or so. Always get out when I can. Beastly smell in this Hotel. Noticed it last night in the Bar. Drains, I think! Strange mentioned it too! We both smelt it. Nasty decayed smell. Might be a dead rat under the billiard room floor.â

âYou played billiards, and after your game?â

âOh we talked a bit, had another drink or two. Then Nevile said âHullo, Iâve missed the ferry,â so I said Iâd get out my car and drive him back, which I did. We got there about two thirty.â

âAnd Mr. Strange was with you all the evening?â

âOh yes. Ask anybody. Theyâll tell you.â

âThank you, Mr. Latimer. We have to be so careful.â

Leach said as they left the smiling, self-possessed young man: âWhatâs the idea of checking up so carefully on Nevile Strange?â

Battle smiled. Leach got it suddenly.

âGood lord, itâs the other one youâre checking up on. So thatâs your idea.â

âItâs too soon to have ideas,â said Battle. âIâve just got to know exactly where Mr. Ted Latimer was last night. We know that from quarter past eleven, sayâto after midnightâhe was with Nevile Strange. But where was he before thatâwhen Strange arrived and couldnât find him?â

They pursued their inquiries doggedlyâwith bar attendants, waiters, lift boys. Latimer had been seen in the lounge between nine and ten. He had been in the bar at a quarter past ten. But between that time and eleven twenty he seemed to have been singularly elusive. Then one of the maids was found who declared that Mr. Latimer had been âin one of the small writing rooms with Mrs. Beddoesâthatâs the fat North Country lady.â

Pressed as to time, she said she thought it was about eleven oâclock.

âThat tears it,â said Battle gloomily. âHe was here all right. Just didnât want attention drawn to his fat (and no doubt rich) lady friend. That throws us back on those othersâthe servants, Kay Strange, Audrey Strange, Mary Aldin and Thomas Royde. One of them killed the old lady, but which? If we could find the real weaponââ

He stopped, then slapped his thigh.

âGot it, Jim, my boy! I know now what made me think of Hercule Poirot. Weâll have a spot of lunch and go back to Gullâs Point and Iâll show you something.â

X

Mary Aldin was restless. She went in and out of the house, picked off a dead dahlia head here and there, went back into the drawing room and shifted flower vases in an unmeaning fashion.

From the library came a vague murmur of voices. Mr. Trelawny was in there with Nevile. Kay and Audrey were nowhere to be seen.

Mary went out in the garden again. Down by the wall she spied Thomas Royde placidly smoking. She went and joined him.

âOh dear.â She sat down beside him with a deep perplexed sigh.

âAnything the matter?â Thomas asked.

Mary laughed with a slight note of hysteria in the laugh.

âNobody but you would say a thing like that. A murder in the house and you just say âIs anything the matter?ââ

Looking a little surprised, Thomas said:

âI meant anything fresh?â

âOh, I know what you meant. Itâs really a wonderful relief to find anyone so gloriously just-the-same-as-usual as you are!â

âNot much good, is it, getting all het up over things?â

âNo, no. Youâre eminently sensible. Itâs how you manage to do it beats me.â

âWell, I suppose Iâm an outsider.â

âThatâs true, of course. You canât feel the relief all the rest of us do that Nevile is cleared.â

âIâm very pleased he is, of course,â said Royde.

Mary shuddered.

âIt was a very near thing. If Camilla hadnât taken it into her head to ring the bell for Barrett after Nevile had left herââ

She left the sentence unfinished. Thomas finished it for her.

âThen old Nevile would have been for it all right.â

He spoke with a certain grim satisfaction, then shook his head with a slight smile, as he met Maryâs reproachful gaze.

âIâm not really heartless, but now that Nevileâs all right I canât help being pleased he had a bit of a shaking up. Heâs always so damned complacent.â

âHe isnât really, Thomas.â

âPerhaps not. Itâs just his manner. Anyway he was looking scared as Hell this morning!â

âWhat a cruel streak you have!â

âAnyway itâs all right now. You know, Mary, even here Nevile has had the devilâs own luck. Some other poor beggar with all that evidence piled up against him mightnât have had such a break.â

Mary shivered again. âDonât say that. I like to think the innocent areâprotected.â

âDo you, my dear?â His voice was gentle.

Mary burst out suddenly:

âThomas, Iâm worried. Iâm frightfully worried.â

âYes?â

âItâs about Mr. Treves.â

Thomas dropped his pipe on the stones. His voice changed as he bent to pick it up.

âWhat about Mr. Treves?â

âThat night he was hereâthat story he toldâabout a little murderer! Iâve been wondering, Thomasâ¦Was it just a story? Or did he tell it with a purpose?â

âYou mean,â said Royde deliberately, âwas it aimed at someone who was in the room?â

Mary whispered, âYes.â

Thomas said quietly:

âIâve been wondering, too. As a matter of fact that was what I was thinking about when you came along just now.â

Mary half closed her eyes.

âIâve been trying to rememberâ¦He told it, you know, so very deliberately. He almost dragged it into the conversation. And he said he would recognize the person anywhere. He emphasized that. As though he had recognized him.â

âMm,â said Thomas. âIâve been through all that.â

âBut why should he do it? What was the point?â

âI suppose,â said Royde, âit was a kind of warning. Not to try anything on.â

âYou mean that Mr. Treves knew then that Camilla was going to be murdered?â

âNo-o. I think thatâs too fantastic. It may have been just a general warning.â

âWhat Iâve been wondering is, do you think we ought to tell the police?â

To that Thomas again gave his thoughtful consideration.

âI think not,â he said at last. âI donât see that itâs relevant in any way. Itâs not as though Treves were alive and could tell them anything.â

âNo,â said Mary. âHeâs dead!â She gave a quick shiver. âItâs so odd, Thomas, the way he died.â

âHeart attack. He had a bad heart.â

âI mean that curious business about the lift being out of order. I donât like it.â

âI donât like it very much myself,â said Thomas Royde.

XI

Superintendent Battle looked round the bedroom. The bed had been made. Otherwise the room was unchanged. It had been neat when they first looked round it. It was neat now.

âThatâs it,â said Superintendent Battle, pointing to the old-fashioned steel fender. âDo you see anything odd about that fender?â

âMust take some cleaning,â said Jim Leach. âItâs well kept. Nothing odd about it that I can see, exceptâyes, the left-hand knob is brighter than the right-hand one.â

âThatâs what put Hercule Poirot into my head,â said Battle. âYou know his fad about things not being quite symmetricalâgets him all worked up. I suppose I thought unconsciously âThat would worry old Poirot,â and then I began talking about him. Get your fingerprint kit, Jones, weâll have a look at those two knobs.â

Jones reported presently.

âThere are prints on the right-hand knob, sir, none on the left.â

âItâs the left one we want, then. Those other prints are the housemaidâs when she last cleaned it. That left-hand one has been cleaned twice.â

âThere was a bit of screwed-up emery paper in this waste paper basket,â volunteered Jones. âI didnât think it meant anything.â

âBecause you didnât know what you were looking for, then. Gently now, Iâll bet anything you like that knob unscrewsâyes, I thought so.â

Presently Jones held the knob up.

âItâs a good weight,â he said, weighing it in his hands.

Leach, bending over it, said:

âThereâs something darkâon the screw.â

âBlood, as likely as not,â said Battle. âCleaned the knob itself and wiped it and that little stain on the screw wasnât noticed. Iâll bet anything you like thatâs the weapon that caved the old ladyâs skull in. But thereâs more to find. Itâs up to you, Jones, to search the house again. This time, youâll know exactly what youâre looking for.â

He gave a few swift detailed instructions. Going to the window he put his head out.

âThereâs something yellow tucked into the ivy. That may be another piece of the puzzle. I rather think it is.â

XII

Crossing the hall, Superintendent Battle was waylaid by Mary Aldin.

âCan I speak to you a minute, Superintendent?â

âCertainly, Miss Aldin. Shall we come in here?â

He threw open the dining room door. Lunch had been cleared away by Hurstall.

âI want to ask you something, Superintendent. Surely you donât, you canât still think that thisâthis awful crime was done by one of us? It must have been someone from outside! Some maniac!â

âYou may not be far wrong there, Miss Aldin. Maniac is a word that describes this criminal very well if Iâm not mistaken. But not an outsider.â

Her eyes opened very wide.

âDo you mean that someone in this house isâis mad?â

âYouâre thinking,â said the Superintendent, âof someone foaming at the mouth and rolling their eyes. Mania isnât like that. Some of the most dangerous criminal lunatics have looked as sane as you or I. Itâs a question, usually, of having an obsession. One idea, preying on the mind, gradually distorting it. Pathetic, reasonable people who come up to you and explain how theyâre being persecuted and how everyone is spying on themâand you sometimes feel it must all be true.â

âIâm sure nobody here has any ideas of being persecuted.â

âI only gave that as an instance. There are other forms of insanity. But I believe whoever committed this crime was under the domination of one fixed ideaâan idea on which they had brooded until literally nothing else mattered or had any importance.â

Mary shivered. She said:

âThereâs something I think you ought to know.â

Concisely and clearly she told him of Mr. Trevesâ visit to dinner and of the story he had told. Superintendent Battle was deeply interested.

âHe said he could recognize this person? Man or womanâby the way?â

âI took it that it was a boy the story was aboutâbut itâs true Mr. Treves didnât actually say soâin fact I remember nowâhe distinctly stated he would not give any particulars as to sex or age.â

âDid he? Rather significant, perhaps. And he said there was a definite physical peculiarity by which he could be sure of knowing this child anywhere?â

âYes.â

âA scar, perhapsâhas anybody here got a scar?â

He noticed the faint hesitation before Mary Aldin replied:

âNot that I have noticed.â

âCome now, Miss Aldin,â he smiled. âYou have noticed something. If so, donât you think that I shall be able to notice it, too?â

She shook her head.

âIâI havenât noticed anything of the kind.â

But he saw that she was startled and upset. His words had obviously suggested a very unpleasant train of thought to her. He wished he knew just what it was, but his experience made him aware that to press her at this minute would not yield any result.

He brought the conversation back to old Mr. Treves.

Mary told him of the tragic sequel to the evening.

Battle questioned her at some length. Then he said quietly:

âThatâs a new one on me. Never came across that before.â

âWhat do you mean?â

âIâve never come across a murder committed by the simple expedient of hanging a placard on a lift.â

She looked horrified.

âYou donât really thinkâ?â

âThat it was murder? Of course it was! Quick, resourceful murder. It might not have come off, of courseâbut it did come off.â

âJust because Mr. Treves knewâ?â

âYes. Because he would have been able to direct our attention to one particular person in this house. As it is, weâve started in the dark. But weâve got a glimmer of light now, and every minute the case is getting clearer. Iâll tell you this, Miss Aldinâthis murder was very carefully planned beforehand down to the smallest detail. And I want to impress one thing on your mindâdonât let anybody know that youâve told me what you have. That is important. Donât tell anyone, mind.â

Mary nodded. She was still looking dazed.

Superintendent Battle went out of the room and proceeded to do what he had been about to do when Mary Aldin intercepted him. He was a methodical man. He wanted certain information, and a new and promising hare did not distract him from the orderly performance of his duties, however tempting this new hare might be.

He tapped on the library door, and Nevile Strangeâs voice called âCome in.â

Battle was introduced to Mr. Trelawny, a tall distinguished-looking man with a keen dark eye.

âSorry if I am butting in,â said Superintendent Battle apologetically. âBut thereâs something I havenât got clear. You, Mr. Strange, inherit half the late Sir Matthewâs estate, but who inherits the other half?â

Nevile looked surprised.

âI told you. My wife.â

âYes. Butââ Battle coughed in a deprecating manner, âwhich wife, Mr. Strange?â

âOh, I see. Yes, I expressed myself badly. The money goes to Audrey, who was my wife at the time the will was made. Thatâs right, Mr. Trelawny?â

The lawyer assented.

âThe bequest is quite clearly worded. The estate is to be divided between Sir Matthewâs ward, Nevile Henry Strange, and his wife, Audrey Elizabeth Strange, nÃ©e Standish. The subsequent divorce makes no difference whatever.â

âThatâs clear, then,â said Battle. âI take it Mrs. Audrey Strange is fully aware of these facts?â

âCertainly,â said Mr. Trelawny.

âAnd the present Mrs. Strange?â

âKay?â Nevile looked slightly surprised. âOh, I suppose so. At leastâIâve never talked much about it with herââ

âI think youâll find,â said Battle, âthat sheâs under a misapprehension. She thinks that the money on Lady Tressilianâs death comes to you and your present wife. At least, thatâs what she gave me to understand this morning. Thatâs why I came along to find out how the position really lay.â

âHow extraordinary,â said Nevile. âStill, I suppose it might have happened quite easily. She has said once or twice, now that I think about it, âWe come into that money when Camilla dies,â but I suppose I assumed that she was just associating herself with me in my share of it.â

âItâs extraordinary,â said Battle, âthe amount of misunderstandings there are even between two people who discuss a thing quite oftenâboth of them assuming different things and neither of them discovering the discrepancy.â

âI suppose so,â said Nevile, not sounding very interested. âIt doesnât matter much in this case, anyway. Itâs not as though weâre short of money at all. Iâm very glad for Audrey. She has been very hard up and this will make a big difference to her.â

Battle said bluntly: âBut surely, sir, at the time of the divorce, she was entitled to an allowance from you?â

Nevile flushed. He said in a constrained voice:

âThere is such a thing asâas pride, Superintendent. Audrey has always persistently refused to touch a penny of the allowance I wished to make her.â

âA very generous allowance,â put in Mr. Trelawny. âBut Mrs. Audrey Strange has always returned it and refused to accept it.â

âVery interesting,â said Battle, and went out before anyone could ask him to elaborate that comment.

He went out and found his nephew.

âOn its face value,â he said, âthereâs a nice monetary motive for nearly everybody in this case. Nevile Strange and Audrey Strange get a cool fifty thousand each. Kay Strange thinks sheâs entitled to fifty thousand. Mary Aldin gets an income that frees her from having to earn her living. Thomas Royde, Iâm bound to say, doesnât gain. But we can include Hurstall and even Barrett if we admit that sheâd take the risk of finishing herself off to avoid suspicion. Yes, as I say, there are no lack of money motives. And yet, if Iâm right, money doesnât enter into this at all. If thereâs such a thing as murder for pure hate, this is it. And if no one comes along and throws a spanner into the works, Iâm going to get the person who did it!â

XIII

Angus MacWhirter sat on the terrace of the Easterhead Bay Hotel and stared across the river to the frowning height of Stark Head opposite.

He was engaged at the moment in a careful stocktaking of his thoughts and emotions.

He hardly knew what it was that had made him choose to spend his last few days of leisure where he now was. Yet something had drawn him there. Perhaps the wish to test himselfâto see if there remained in his heart any of the old despair.

Mona? How little he cared now. She was married to the other man. He had passed her in the street one day without feeling any emotion. He could remember his grief and bitterness when she left him, but they were past now and gone.

He was recalled from these thoughts by an impact of wet dog and the frenzied appeal of a newly made friend, Miss Diana Brinton, aged thirteen.

âOh come away, Don. Come away. Isnât it awful? Heâs rolled on some fish or something down on the beach. You can smell him yards away. The fish was awfully dead, you know!â

MacWhirterâs nose confirmed this assumption.

âIn a sort of crevice on the rocks,â said Miss Brinton. âI took him into the sea and tried to wash it off, but it doesnât seem to have done much good.â

MacWhirter agreed. Don, a wirehaired terrier of amiable and loving disposition, was looking hurt by the tendency of his friends to keep him firmly at armâs length.

âSea waterâs no good,â said MacWhirter. âHot water and soapâs the only thing.â

âI know. But thatâs not so jolly easy in a Hotel. We havenât got a private bath.â

In the end MacWhirter and Diana surreptitiously entered by the side door with Don on a lead, and smuggling him up to MacWhirterâs bathroom, a thorough cleansing took place and both MacWhirter and Diana got very wet. Don was very sad when it was all over. That disgusting smell of soap againâjust when he had found a really nice perfume such as any other dog would envy. Oh well, it was always the same with humansâthey had no decent sense of smell.

The little incident had left MacWhirter in a more cheerful mood. He took the bus into Saltington, where he had left a suit to be cleaned.

The girl in charge of the 24-Hour Cleaners looked at him vacantly.

âMacWhirter, did you say? Iâm afraid it isnât ready yet.â

âIt should be.â He had been promised that suit the day before, and even that would have been 48 and not 24 hours. A woman might have said all this. MacWhirter merely scowled.

âThereâs not been time yet,â said the girl, smiling indifferently.

âNonsense.â

The girl stopped smiling. She snapped,

âAnyway, itâs not done,â she said.

âThen Iâll take it away as it is,â said MacWhirter.

âNothingâs been done to it,â the girl warned him.

âIâll take it away.â

âI dare say we might get it done by tomorrowâas a special favour.â

âIâm not in the habit of asking for special favours. Just give me the suit, please.â

Giving him a bad-tempered look, the girl went into the back room. She returned with a clumsily done up parcel which she pushed across the counter.

MacWhirter took it and went out.

He felt, quite ridiculously, as though he had won a victory. Actually it merely meant that he would have to have the suit cleaned elsewhere!

He threw the parcel on his bed when he returned to the Hotel and looked at it with annoyance. Perhaps he could get it sponged and pressed in the Hotel. It was not really too badâperhaps it didnât actually need cleaning?

He undid the parcel and gave vent to an expression of annoyance. Really, the 24-Hour Cleaners were too inefficient for words. This wasnât his suit. It wasnât even the same colour. It had been a dark blue suit he had left with them. Impertinent, inefficient muddlers.

He glanced irritably at the label. It had the name MacWhirter all right. Another MacWhirter? Or some stupid interchange of labels?

Staring down vexedly at the crumpled heap, he suddenly sniffed.

Surely he knew that smellâa particularly unpleasant smellâ¦connected somehow with a dog. Yes, that was it. Diana and her dog. Absolutely and literally stinking fish!

He bent down and examined the suit. There it was, a discoloured patch on the shoulder of the coat. On the shoulderâ

Now that, thought MacWhirter, is really very curiousâ¦.

Anyway, next day, he would have a few grim words with the girl at the 24-Hour Cleaners. Gross mismanagement!

XIV

After dinner he strolled out of the Hotel and down the road to the Ferry. It was a clear night, but cold, with a sharp foretaste of winter. Summer was over.

MacWhirter crossed in the ferry to the Saltcreek side. It was the second time that he was revisiting Stark Head. The place had a fascination for him. He walked slowly up the hill, passing the Balmoral Court Hotel and then a big house set on the point of a cliff. Gullâs Pointâhe read the name on the painted door. Of course, that was where the old lady had been murdered. There had been a lot of talk in the Hotel about it, his chambermaid had insisted on telling him all about it and the newspapers had given it a prominence which had annoyed MacWhirter, who preferred to read of worldwide affairs and who was not interested in crime.

He went on, downhill again to skirt a small beach and some old-fashioned fishing cottages that had been modernized. Then up again till the road ended and petered out into the track that led up on Stark Head.

It was grim and forbidding on Stark Head. MacWhirter stood on the cliff edge looking down to the sea. So he had stood on that other night. He tried to recapture some of the feeling he had had thenâthe desperation, anger, wearinessâthe longing to be out of it all. But there was nothing to recapture. All that had gone. There was instead a cold anger. Caught on that tree, rescued by coastguards, fussed over like a naughty child in hospital, a series of indignities and affronts. Why couldnât he have been let alone? He would rather, a thousand times rather, be out of it all. He still felt that. The only thing he had lost was the necessary impetus.

How it had hurt him then to think of Mona! He could think of her quite calmly now. She had always been rather a fool. Easily taken by anyone who flattered her or played up to her idea of herself. Very pretty. Yes, very prettyâbut no mind, not the kind of woman he had once dreamed about.

But that was beauty, of courseâsome vague fancied picture of a woman flying through the night with white draperies streaming out behind herâ¦Something like the figurehead of a shipâonly not so solidâ¦not nearly so solidâ¦.

And then, with dramatic suddenness, the incredible happened! Out of the night came a flying figure. One minute she was not there, the next minute she wasâa white figure runningârunningâto the cliffâs edge. A figure, beautiful and desperate, driven to destruction by pursuing Furies! Running with a terrible desperationâ¦He knew that desperation. He knew what it meantâ¦.

He came with a rush out of the shadows and caught her just as she was about to go over the edge!

He said fiercely: âNo you donâtâ¦.â

It was just like holding a bird. She struggledâstruggled silently, and then, again like a bird, was suddenly dead still.

He said urgently:

âDonât throw yourself over! Nothingâs worth it. Nothing. Even if you are desperately unhappyââ

She made a sound. It was, perhaps, a far-off ghost of a laugh.

He said sharply:

âYouâre not unhappy? What is it then?â

She answered him at once with the low softly breathed word:

âAfraid.â

âAfraid?â He was so astonished that he let her go, standing back a pace to see her better.

He realized then the truth of her words. It was fear that had lent that urgency to her footsteps. It was fear that made her small white intelligent face blank and stupid. Fear that dilated those wide-apart eyes.

He said incredulously: âWhat are you afraid of?â

She replied so low that he hardly heard it.

âIâm afraid of being hangedâ¦.â

Yes, she had said just that. He stared and stared. He looked from her to the cliffâs edge.

âSo thatâs why?â

âYes. A quick death instead ofââ She closed her eyes and shivered. She went on shivering.

MacWhirter was piecing things together logically in his mind.

He said at last:

âLady Tressilian? The old lady who was murdered?â Then, accusingly: âYouâll be Mrs. Strangeâthe first Mrs. Strange.â

Still shivering she nodded her head.

MacWhirter went on in his slow careful voice, trying to remember all that he had heard. Rumour had been incorporated with fact.

âThey detained your husbandâthatâs right, isnât it? A lot of evidence against himâand then they found that that evidence had been faked by someoneâ¦.â

He stopped and looked at her. She wasnât shivering any longer. She was standing looking at him like a docile child. He found her attitude unendurably affecting.

His voice went on:

âI seeâ¦Yes, I see how it wasâ¦He left you for another woman, didnât he? And you loved himâ¦Thatâs whyââ He broke off. He said, âI understand. My wife left me for another manâ¦.â

She flung out her arms. She began stammering wildly, hopelessly:

âItâs n-n-notâitâs n-n-not l-like that. N-not at allââ

He cut her short. His voice was stern and commanding.

âGo home. You neednât be afraid any longer. Dâyou hear? Iâll see that youâre not hanged!â

XV

Mary Aldin was lying on the drawing room sofa. Her head ached and her whole body felt worn out.

The inquest had taken place the day before and, after formal evidence of identification, had been adjourned for a week.

Lady Tressilianâs funeral was to take place on the morrow. Audrey and Kay had gone into Saltington in the car to get some black clothes. Ted Latimer had gone with them. Nevile and Thomas Royde had gone for a walk, so except for the servants, Mary was alone in the house.

Superintendent Battle and Inspector Leach had been absent today, and that, too, was a relief. It seemed to Mary that with their absence a shadow had been lifted. They had been polite, quite pleasant, in fact, but the ceaseless questions, that quiet deliberate probing and sifting of every fact was the sort of thing that wore hardly on the nerves. By now that wooden-faced Superintendent must have learned of every incident, every word, every gesture, even, of the past ten days.

Now, with their going, there was peace. Mary let herself relax. She would forget everythingâeverything. Just lie back and rest.

âExcuse me, Madamââ

It was Hurstall in the doorway, looking apologetic.

âYes, Hurstall?â

âA gentleman wishes to see you. I have put him in the study.â

Mary looked at him in astonishment and some annoyance.

âWho is it?â

âHe gave his name as Mr. MacWhirter, Miss.â

âIâve never heard of him.â

âNo, Miss.â

âHe must be a reporter. You shouldnât have let him in, Hurstall.â

Hurstall coughed.

âI donât think he is a reporter, Miss. I think he is a friend of Miss Audreyâs.â

âOh, thatâs different.â

Smoothing her hair, Mary went wearily across the hall and into the small study. She was, somehow, a little surprised as the tall man standing by the window turned. He did not look in the least like a friend of Audreyâs.

However, she said pleasantly:

âIâm sorry Mrs. Strange is out. You wanted to see her?â

He looked at her in a thoughtful, considering way.

âYouâll be Miss Aldin?â he said.

âYes.â

âI dare say you can help me just as well. I want to find some rope.â

âRope?â said Mary in lively amazement.

âYes, rope. Where would you be likely to keep a piece of rope?â

Afterwards Mary considered that she had been half-hypnotized. If this strange man had volunteered any explanation she might have resisted. But Angus MacWhirter, unable to think of a plausible explanation, decided very wisely to do without one. He just stated quite simply what he wanted. She found herself, semi-dazed, leading MacWhirter in search of rope.

âWhat kind of rope?â she had asked.

And he had replied: âAny rope will do.â

She said doubtfully: âPerhaps in the potting shedââ

âShall we go there?â

She led the way. There was twine and an odd bit of cord, but MacWhirter shook his head.

He wanted ropeâa good-sized coil of rope.

âThereâs the boxroom,â said Mary hesitatingly.

âAy, that might be the place.â

They went indoors and upstairs. Mary threw open the boxroom door. MacWhirter stood in the doorway looking in. He gave a curious sigh of contentment.

âThere it is,â he said.

There was a big coil of rope lying on a chest just inside the door in company with old fishing tackle and some moth-eaten cushions. He laid a hand on her arm and impelled Mary gently forward until they stood looking down on the rope. He touched it and said:

âIâd like you to charge your memory with this, Miss Aldin. Youâll notice that everything round about is covered with dust. Thereâs no dust on this rope. Just feel it.â

She said:

âIt feels slightly damp,â in a surprised tone.

âJust so.â

He turned to go out again.

âBut the rope? I thought you wanted it?â said Mary in surprise.

MacWhirter smiled.

âI just wanted to know it was there. Thatâs all. Perhaps you wouldnât mind locking this door, Miss Aldinâand taking the key out? Yes. Iâd be obliged if youâd hand the key to Superintendent Battle or Inspector Leach. It would be best in their keeping.â

As they went downstairs, Mary made an effort to rally herself.

She protested as they reached the main hall:

âBut really, I donât understand.â

MacWhirter said firmly:

âThereâs no need for you to understand.â He took her hand and shook it heartily. âIâm very much obliged to you for your cooperation.â

Whereupon he went straight out of the front door. Mary wondered if she had been dreaming!

Nevile and Thomas came in presently and the car arrived back shortly afterwards and Mary Aldin found herself envying Kay and Ted for being able to look quite cheerful. They were laughing and joking together. After all, why not? she thought. Camilla Tressilian had been nothing to Kay. All this tragic business was very hard on a bright young creature.

They had just finished lunch when the police came. There was something scared in Hurstallâs voice as he announced that Superintendent Battle and Inspector Leach were in the drawing room.

Superintendent Battleâs face was quite genial as he greeted them.

âHope I havenât disturbed you all,â he said apologetically. âBut there are one or two things Iâd like to know about. This glove, for instance, who does it belong to?â

He held it out, a small yellow chamois leather glove.

He addressed Audrey.

âIs it yours, Mrs. Strange?â

She shook her head.

âNoâno, it isnât mine.â

âMiss Aldin?â

âI donât think so. I have none of that colour.â

âMay I see?â Kay held out her hand. âNo.â

âPerhaps youâd just slip it on.â

Kay tried, but the glove was too small.

âMiss Aldin?â

Mary tried in her turn.

âItâs too small for you also,â said Battle. He turned back to Audrey. âI think youâll find it fits you all right. Your hand is smaller than either of the other ladiesâ.â

Audrey took it from him and slipped it on over her right hand.

Nevile Strange said sharply:

âSheâs already told you, Battle, that it isnât her glove.â

âAh well,â said Battle, âperhaps she made a mistake. Or forgot.â

Audrey said: âIt may be mineâgloves are so alike, arenât they?â

Battle said:

âAt any rate it was found outside your window, Mrs. Strange, pushed down into the ivyâwith its fellow.â

There was a pause. Audrey opened her mouth to speak, then closed it up again. Her eyes fell before the Superintendentâs steady gaze.

Nevile sprang forward. âLook here, Superintendentââ

âPerhaps we might have a word with you, Mr. Strange, privately?â Battle said gravely.

âCertainly, Superintendent. Come into the library.â

He led the way and the two police officers followed him.

As soon as the door had closed Nevile said sharply:

âWhatâs this ridiculous story about gloves outside my wifeâs window?â

Battle said quietly: âMr. Strange, weâve found some very curious things in this house.â

Nevile frowned.

âCurious? What do you mean by curious?â

âIâll show you.â

In obedience to a nod, Leach left the room and came back holding a very strange implement.

Battle said:

âThis consists, as you see, sir, of a steel ball taken from a Victorian fenderâa heavy steel ball. Then the head has been sawed off a tennis racquet and the ball has been screwed into the handle of the racquet.â He paused. âI think there can be no doubt that this is what was used to kill Lady Tressilian.â

âHorrible!â said Nevile with a shudder. âBut where did you find thisâthis nightmare?â

âThe ball had been cleaned and put back on the fender. The murderer had, however, neglected to clean the screw. We found a trace of blood on that. In the same way the handle and the head of the racquet were joined together again by means of adhesive surgical plaster. It was then thrown carelessly back into the cupboard under the stairs, where it would probably have remained quite unnoticed amongst so many others if we hadnât happened to be looking for something of that kind.â

âSmart of you, Superintendent.â

âJust a matter of routine.â

âNo fingerprints, I suppose?â

âThat racquet which belongs by its weight, I should say, to Mrs. Kay Strange, had been handled by her and also be you and both your prints are on it. But it also shows unmistakable signs that someone wearing gloves handled it after you did. There was just one fingerprintâleft this time in inadvertence, I think. That was on the surgical strapping that had been applied to bind the racquet together again. Iâm not going for the moment to say whose print that was. Iâve got some other points to mention first.â

Battle paused, then he said:

âI want you to prepare yourself for a shock, Mr. Strange. And first I want to ask you something. Are you quite sure that it was your own idea to have this meeting here and that it was not actually suggested to you by Mrs. Audrey Strange?â

âAudrey did nothing of the sort, Audreyââ

The door opened and Thomas Royde came in.

âSorry to butt in,â he said, âbut I thought Iâd like to be in on this.â

Nevile turned a harassed face towards him.

âDo you mind, old fellow? This is all rather private.â

âIâm afraid I donât care about that. You see, I heard a name outside.â He paused. âAudreyâs name.â

âAnd what the Hell has Audreyâs name got to do with you?â demanded Nevile, his temper rising.

âWell, what has it to do with you if it comes to that? I havenât said anything definite to Audrey, but I came here meaning to ask her to marry me, and I think she knows it. Whatâs more, I mean to marry her.â

Superintendent Battle coughed. Nevile turned to him with a start.

âSorry, Superintendent. This interruptionââ

Battle said:

âIt doesnât matter to me, Mr. Strange. Iâve got one more question to ask you. That dark blue coat you wore at dinner the night of the murder, itâs got fair hairs inside the collar and on the shoulders? Do you know how they got there?â

âI suppose theyâre my hairs.â

âOh no, theyâre not yours, sir. Theyâre a ladyâs hairs, and thereâs a red hair on the sleeve.â

âI suppose thatâs my wifeâsâKayâs. The others, you are suggesting, are Audreyâs. Very likely they are. I caught my cuff button in her hair one night outside on the terrace, I remember.â

âIn that case,â murmured Inspector Leach, âthe fair hair would be on the cuff.â

âWhat the devil are you suggesting?â cried Nevile.

âThereâs a trace of powder, too, inside the coat collar,â said Battle. âPrimavera Naturelle No. 1âa very pleasant-scented powder and expensiveâbut itâs no good telling me that you use it, Mr. Strange, because I shanât believe you. And Mrs. Strange uses Orchid Sun Kiss. Mrs. Audrey Strange does use Primavera Naturelle No. 1.â

âWhat are you suggesting?â repeated Nevile.

Battle leaned forward.

âIâm suggesting thatâon some occasion Mrs. Audrey Strange wore that coat. Itâs the only reasonable way the hair and the powder could get where it did. Then youâve seen that glove I produced just now? Itâs her glove all right. That was the right hand, hereâs the left.â He drew it out of his pocket and put it down on the table. It was crumpled and stained with rusty brown patches.

Nevile said with a note of fear in his voice: âWhatâs that on it?â

âBlood, Mr. Strange,â said Battle firmly. âAnd youâll note this, itâs the left hand. Now Mrs. Audrey Strange is left-handed. I noted that first thing when I saw her sitting with her coffee cup in her right hand and her cigarette in her left at the breakfast table. And the pen tray on her writing table had been shifted to the left-hand side. It all fits in. The knob from her grate, the gloves outside her window, the hair and powder on the coat. Lady Tressilian was struck on the right templeâbut the position of the bed made it impossible for anyone to have stood on the other side of it. It follows that to strike Lady Tressilian a blow with the right hand would be a very awkward thing to doâbut itâs the natural way to strike for a left-handed personâ¦.â

Nevile laughed scornfully.

âAre you suggesting that AudreyâAudrey would make all these elaborate preparations and strike down an old lady whom she had known for years in order to get her hands on that old ladyâs money?â

Battle shook his head.

âIâm suggesting nothing of the sort. Iâm sorry, Mr. Strange, youâve got to understand just how things are. This crime, first, last, and all the time was directed against you. Ever since you left her, Audrey Strange has been brooding over the possibilities of revenge. In the end she has become mentally unbalanced. Perhaps she was never mentally very strong. She thought, perhaps, of killing you but that wasnât enough. She thought at last of getting you hanged for murder. She chose an evening when she knew you had quarrelled with Lady Tressilian. She took the coat from your bedroom and wore it when she struck the old lady down so that it should be bloodstained. She put your niblick on the floor, knowing we would find your fingerprints on it, and smeared blood and hair on the head of the club. It was she who instilled into your mind the idea of coming here when she was here. And the thing that saved you was the one thing she couldnât count onâthe fact that Lady Tressilian rang her bell for Barrett and that Barrett saw you leave the house.â

Nevile had buried his face in his hands. He said now:

âItâs not true. Itâs not true! Audreyâs never borne a grudge against me. Youâve got the whole thing wrong. Sheâs the straightest, truest creatureâwithout thought of evil in her heart.â

Battle sighed.

âItâs not my business to argue with you, Mr. Strange. I only wanted to prepare you. I shall caution Mrs. Strange and ask her to accompany me. Iâve got the warrant. Youâd better see about getting a solicitor for her.â

âItâs preposterous. Absolutely preposterous.â

âLove turns to hate more easily than you think, Mr. Strange.â

âI tell you itâs all wrongâpreposterous.â

Thomas Royde broke in. His voice was quiet and pleasant.

âDo stop repeating that itâs preposterous, Nevile. Pull yourself together. Donât you see that the only thing that can help Audrey now is for you to give up all your ideas of chivalry and come out with the truth?â

âThe truth? You meanâ?â

âI mean the truth about Audrey and Adrian.â Royde turned to the police officers. âYou see, Superintendent, youâve got the facts wrong. Nevile didnât leave Audrey. She left him. She ran away with my brother Adrian. Then Adrian was killed in a car accident. Nevile behaved with the utmost chivalry to Audrey. He arranged that she should divorce him and that he would take the blame.â

âDidnât want her name dragged through the mud,â muttered Nevile sulkily. âDidnât know anyone knew.â

âAdrian wrote out to me, just before,â explained Thomas briefly. He went on: âDonât you see, Superintendent, that knocks your motive out! Audrey has no cause to hate Nevile. On the contrary, she has every reason to be grateful to him. Heâs tried to get her to accept an allowance which she wouldnât do. Naturally when he wanted her to come and meet Kay she didnât feel she could refuse.â

âYou see,â Nevile put in eagerly. âThat cuts out her motive. Thomas is right.â

Battleâs wooden face was immovable.

âMotiveâs only one thing,â he said. âI may have been wrong about that. But facts are another. All the facts show that sheâs guilty.â

Nevile said meaningly:

âAll the facts showed that I was guilty two days ago!â

Battle seemed a little taken aback.

âThatâs true enough. But look here, Mr. Strange, at what youâre asking me to believe. Youâre asking me to believe that thereâs someone who hates both of youâsomeone who, if the plot against you failed, had laid a second trail to lead to Audrey Strange. Now can you think of anyone, Mr. Strange, who hates both you and your former wife?â

Nevileâs head had dropped into his hands again.

âWhen you say it like that you make it all sound fantastic!â

âBecause it is fantastic. Iâve got to go by the facts. If Mrs. Strange has any explanations to offerââ

âDid I have any explanation?â asked Nevile.

âItâs no good, Mr. Strange. Iâve got to do my duty.â

Battle got up abruptly. He and Leach left the room first. Nevile and Royde came close behind them.

They went on across the hall into the drawing room. There they stopped.

Audrey Strange got up. She walked forward to meet them. She looked straight at Battle, her lips parted in what was very nearly a smile.

She said very softly:

âYou want me, donât you?â

Battle became very official.

âMrs. Strange, I have a warrant here for your arrest on the charge of murdering Camilla Tressilian on Monday last, September 12th. I must caution you that anything you say will be written down and may be used in evidence at your trial.â

Audrey gave a sigh. Her small clear-cut face was peaceful and pure as a cameo.

âItâs almost a relief. Iâm glad itâsâover!â

Nevile sprang forward.

âAudreyâdonât say anythingâdonât speak at all.â

She smiled at him.

âBut why not, Nevile? Itâs all trueâand Iâm so tired.â

Leach drew a deep breath. Well, that was that. Mad as a hatter, of course, but it would save a lot of worry! He wondered what had happened to his uncle. The old boy was looking as though he had seen a ghost. Staring at the poor demented creature as though he couldnât believe his eyes. Oh, well, it had been an interesting case, Leach thought comfortably.

And then, an almost grotesque anticlimax, Hurstall opened the drawing room door and announced: âMr. MacWhirter.â

MacWhirter strode in purposefully. He went straight up to Battle. âAre you the police officer in charge of the Tressilian case?â he asked.

âI am.â

âThen I have an important statement to make. I am sorry not to have come forward before, but the importance of something I happened to see on the night of Monday last has only just dawned on me.â He gave a quick glance round the room. âIf I can speak to you somewhere?â

Battle turned to Leach.

âWill you stay here with Mrs. Strange?â

Leach said officially: âYes, sir.â

Then he leaned forward and whispered something into the otherâs ear.

Battle turned to MacWhirter. âCome this way.â

He led the way into the library.

âNow then, whatâs all this? My colleague tells me that heâs seen you beforeâlast winter?â

âQuite right,â said MacWhirter. âAttempted suicide. Thatâs part of my story.â

âGo on, Mr. MacWhirter.â

âLast January I attempted to kill myself by throwing myself off Stark Head. This year the fancy took me to revisit the spot. I walked up there on Monday night. I stood there for some time. I looked down at the sea and across to Easterhead Bay and I then looked to my left. That is to say I looked across towards this house. I could see it quite plainly in the moonlight.â

âYes.â

âUntil today I had not realized that that was the night when a murder was committed.â

He leant forward. âIâll tell you what I saw.â

XVI

It was really only about five minutes before Battle returned to the drawing room, but to those there it seemed much longer.

Kay had suddenly lost control of herself. She had cried out to Audrey.

âI knew it was you. I always knew it was you. I knew you were up to somethingââ

Mary Aldin said quickly:

âPlease, Kay.â

Nevile said sharply:

âShut up, Kay, for Godâs sake.â

Ted Latimer came over to Kay, who had begun to cry.

âGet a grip on yourself,â he said kindly.

He said to Nevile angrily:

âYou donât seem to realize that Kay has been under a lot of strain! Why donât you look after her a bit, Strange?â

âIâm all right,â said Kay.

âFor two pins,â said Ted, âIâd take you away from the lot of them!â

Inspector Leach cleared his throat. A lot of injudicious things were said at times like these, as he well knew. The unfortunate part was that they were usually remembered most inconveniently afterwards.

Battle came back into the room. His face was expressionless.

He said: âWill you put one or two things together, Mrs. Strange? Iâm afraid Inspector Leach must come upstairs with you.â

Mary Aldin said: âIâll come too.â

When the two women had left the room with the Inspector, Nevile said anxiously: âWell, what did that chap want?â

Battle said slowly:

âMr. MacWhirter tells a very odd story.â

âDoes it help Audrey? Are you still determined to arrest her?â

âIâve told you, Mr. Strange. Iâve got to do my duty.â

Nevile turned away, the eagerness dying out of his face.

He said:

âIâd better telephone Trelawny, I suppose.â

âThereâs no immediate hurry for that, Mr. Strange. Thereâs a certain experiment I want to make first as a result of Mr. MacWhirterâs statement. Iâll just see that Mrs. Strange gets off first.â

Audrey was coming down the stairs, Inspector Leach beside her. Her face still had that remote detached composure.

Nevile came towards her, his hands outstretched.

âAudreyââ

Her colourless glance swept over him. She said:

âItâs all right, Nevile. I donât mind. I donât mind anything.â

Thomas Royde stood by the front door, almost as though he would bar the way out.

A very faint smile came to her lips.

ââTrue Thomas,ââ she murmured.

He mumbled: âIf thereâs anything I can doââ

âNo one can do anything,â said Audrey.

She went out with her head high. A police car was waiting outside with Sergeant Jones in it. Audrey and Leach got in.

Ted Latimer murmured appreciatively:

âLovely exit!â

Nevile turned on him furiously. Superintendent Battle dexterously interposed his bulk and raised a soothing voice:

âAs I said, Iâve got an experiment to make. Mr. MacWhirter is waiting down at the ferry. Weâre to join him there in ten minutesâ time. We shall be going out in a motor launch, so the ladies had better wrap up warmly. In ten minutes, please.â

He might have been a stage manager ordering a company on to the stage. He took no notice at all of their puzzled faces.

ZERO HOUR

I

It was chilly on the water and Kay hugged the little fur jacket she was wearing closer round her.

The launch chugged down the river below Gullâs Point, and then swung round into the little bay that divided Gullâs Point from the frowning mass of Stark Head.

Once or twice a question began to be asked, but each time Superintendent Battle held up a large hand rather like a cardboard ham, intimating that the time had not come yet. So the silence was unbroken save for the rushing of the water past them. Kay and Ted stood together looking down into the water. Nevile was slumped down, his legs stuck out. Mary Aldin and Thomas Royde sat up in the bows. And one and all glanced from time to time curiously at the tall aloof figure of MacWhirter by the stern. He looked at none of them, but stood with his back turned and his shoulders hunched up.

Not until they were under the frowning shadow of Stark Head did Battle throttle down the engine and begin to speak his piece. He spoke without self-consciousness and in a tone that was more reflective than anything else.

âThis has been a very odd caseâone of the oddest Iâve ever known, and Iâd like to say something on the subject of murder generally. What Iâm going to say is not originalâactually I overheard young Mr. Daniels, the KC, say something of the kind, and I wouldnât be surprised if heâd got it from someone elseâheâs a trick of doing that!

âItâs this! When you read the account of a murderâor say, a fiction story based on murder, you usually begin with the murder itself. Thatâs all wrong. The murder begins a long time beforehand. A murder is the culmination of a lot of different circumstances, all converging at a given moment at a given point. People are brought into it from different parts of the globe and for unforeseen reasons. Mr. Royde is here from Malaya. Mr. MacWhirter is here because he wanted to revisit a spot where he once tried to commit suicide. The murder itself is the end of the story. Itâs Zero Hour.â

He paused.

âItâs Zero Hour now.â

Five faces were turned to himâonly five, for MacWhirter did not turn his head. Five puzzled faces.

Mary Aldin said:

âYou mean that Lady Tressilianâs death was the culmination of a long train of circumstances?â

âNo, Miss Aldin, not Lady Tressilianâs death. Lady Tressilianâs death was only incidental to the main object of the murderer. The murder I am talking of is the murder of Audrey Strange.â

He listened to the sharp indrawing of breath. He wondered if, suddenly, someone was afraidâ¦.

âThis crime was planned quite a long time agoâprobably as early as last winter. It was planned down to the smallest detail. It had one object, and one object only: that Audrey Strange should be hanged by the neck till she was deadâ¦.

âIt was cunningly planned by someone who thought themselves very clever. Murderers are usually vain. There was first the superficial unsatisfactory evidence against Nevile Strange which we were meant to see through. But having been presented with one lot of faked evidence, it was not considered likely that we should consider a second edition of the same thing. And yet, if you come to look at it, all the evidence against Audrey Strange could be faked. The weapon taken from her fireplace, her glovesâthe left-hand glove dipped in bloodâhidden in the ivy outside her window. The powder she uses dusted on the inside of a coat collar, and a few hairs placed there too. Her own fingerprint, occurring quite naturally on a roll of adhesive plaster taken from her room. Even the left-handed nature of the blow.

âAnd there was the final damning evidence of Mrs. Strange herselfâI donât believe thereâs one of you (except the one who knows) who can credit her innocence after the way she behaved when we took her into custody. Practically admitted her guilt, didnât she? I mightnât have believed in her being innocent myself if it hadnât been for a private experience of my ownâ¦Struck me right between the eyes it did, when I saw and heard herâbecause, you see, Iâd known another girl who did that very same thing, who admitted guilt when she wasnât guiltyâand Audrey Strange was looking at me with that other girlâs eyesâ¦.

âIâd got to do my duty. I knew that. We police officers have to act on evidenceânot on what we feel and think. But I can tell you that at that minute I prayed for a miracleâbecause I didnât see that anything but a miracle was going to help that poor lady.

âWell, I got my miracle. Got it right away!

âMr. MacWhirter, here, turned up with his story.â

He paused.

âMr. MacWhirter, will you repeat what you told me up at the house?â

MacWhirter turned. He spoke in short sharp sentences that carried conviction just because of their conciseness.

He told of his rescue from the cliff the preceding January and of his wish to revisit the scene. He went on:

âI went up there on Monday night. I stood there lost in my own thoughts. It must have been, I suppose, in the neighbourhood of eleven oâclock. I looked across at that house on the pointâGullâs Point, as I know it now to be.â

He paused and then went on.

âThere was a rope hanging from a window of that house into the sea. I saw a man climbing up that ropeâ¦.â

Just a moment elapsed before they took it in. Mary Aldin cried out:

âThen it was an outsider after all? It was nothing to do with any of us. It was an ordinary burglar!â

âNot quite so fast,â said Battle. âIt was someone who came from the other side of the river, yes, since he swam across. But someone in the house had to have the rope ready for him, therefore someone inside must have been concerned.â

He went on slowly:

âAnd we know of someone who was on the other side of the river that nightâsomeone who wasnât seen between ten thirty and a quarter past eleven, and who might have been swimming over and back. Someone who might have had a friend on this side of the water.â

He added: âEh, Mr. Latimer?â

Ted took a step backward. He cried out shrilly:

âBut I canât swim! Everybody knows I canât swim. Kay, tell them I canât swim.â

âOf course Ted canât swim!â Kay said.

âIs that so?â asked Battle pleasantly.

He moved along the boat as Ted moved in the other direction. There was some clumsy movement and a splash.

âDear me,â said Superintendent Battle in deep concern. âMr. Latimerâs gone overboard.â

His hand closed like a vice on Nevileâs arm as the latter was preparing to jump in after him.

âNo, no, Mr. Strange. No need for you to get yourself wet. There are two of my men handyâfishing in the dinghy there.â He peered over the side of the boat. âItâs quite true,â he said with interest. âHe canât swim. Itâs all right. Theyâve got him. Iâll apologize presently, but really thereâs only one way to make sure that a person canât swim and thatâs to throw them in and watch. You see, Mr. Strange, I like to be thorough. I had to eliminate Mr. Latimer first. Mr. Royde here has got a groggy arm, he couldnât do any rope climbing.â

Battleâs voice took on a purring quality.

âSo that brings us to you, doesnât it, Mr. Strange? A good athlete, a mountain climber, a swimmer and all that. You went over on the ten thirty ferry all right but no one can swear to seeing you at the Easterhead Hotel until a quarter past eleven in spite of your story of having been looking for Mr. Latimer then.â

Nevile jerked his arm away. He threw back his head and laughed.

âYou suggest that I swam across the river and climbed up a ropeââ

âWhich you had left ready hanging from your window,â said Battle.

âKilled Lady Tressilian and swam back again? Why should I do such a fantastic thing? And who laid all those clues against me? I suppose I laid them against myself?â

âExactly,â said Battle. âAnd not half a bad idea either.â

âAnd why should I want to kill Camilla Tressilian?â

âYou didnât,â said Battle. âBut you did want to hang the woman who left you for another man. Youâre a bit unhinged mentally, you know. Have been ever since you were a childâIâve looked up that old bow and arrow case, by the way. Anyone who does you an injury has to be punishedâand death doesnât seem to you an excessive penalty for them to pay. Death by itself wasnât enough for Audreyâyour Audrey whom you lovedâoh, yes, you loved her all right before your love turned to hate. You had to think of some special kind of death, some long drawn out specialized death. And when youâd thought of it, the fact that it entailed the killing of a woman who had been something like a mother to you didnât worry you in the leastâ¦.â

Nevile said, and his voice was quite gentle:

âAll lies! All lies! And Iâm not mad. Iâm not mad.â

Battle said contemptuously:

âFlicked you on the raw, didnât she, when she went off and left you for another man? Hurt your vanity! To think she should walk out on you. You salved your pride by pretending to the world at large that youâd left her and you married another girl who was in love with you just to bolster up that belief. But underneath you planned what youâd do to Audrey. You couldnât think of anything worse than thisâto get her hanged. A fine ideaâpity you hadnât the brains to carry it out better!â

Nevileâs tweed-coated shoulders moved, a queer, wriggling movement.

Battle went on:

âChildishâall that niblick stuff! Those crude trails pointing to you! Audrey must have known what you were after! She must have laughed up her sleeve! Thinking I didnât suspect you! You murderers are funny little fellows! So puffed up. Always thinking youâve been clever and resourceful and really being quite pitifully childishâ¦.â

It was a strange queer scream that came from Nevile.

âIt was a clever ideaâit was. Youâd never have guessed. Never! Not if it hadnât been for this interfering jackanapes, this pompous Scotch fool. Iâd thought out every detailâevery detail! I canât help what went wrong. How was I to know Royde knew the truth about Audrey and Adrian? Audrey and Adrianâ¦Curse Audreyâshe shall hangâyouâve got to hang herâI want her to die afraidâto dieâto dieâ¦I hate her. I tell you I want her to dieâ¦.â

The high whinnying voice died away. Nevile slumped down and began to cry quietly.

âOh God,â said Mary Aldin. She was white to the lips.

Battle said gently, in a low voice:

âIâm sorry, but I had to push him over the edgeâ¦There was precious little evidence, you know.â

Nevile was still whimpering. His voice was like a childâs.

âI want her to be hanged. I do want her to be hangedâ¦.â

Mary Aldin shuddered and turned to Thomas Royde.

He took her hands in his.

II

âI was always frightened,â said Audrey.

They were sitting on the terrace. Audrey sat close to Superintendent Battle. Battle had resumed his holiday and was at Gullâs Point as a friend.

âAlways frightenedâall the time,â said Audrey.

Battle said, nodding his head:

âI knew you were dead scared first moment I saw you. And youâd got that colourless reserved way people have who are holding some very strong emotion in check. It might have been love or hate, but actually it was fear, wasnât it?â

She nodded.

âI began to be afraid of Nevile soon after we were married. But the awful thing is, you see, that I didnât know why. I began to think that I was mad.â

âIt wasnât you,â said Battle.

âNevile seemed to me when I married him so particularly sane and normalâalways delightfully good-tempered and pleasant.â

âInteresting,â said Battle. âHe played the part of the good sportsman, you know. Thatâs why he could keep his temper so well at tennis. His role as a good sportsman was more important to him than winning matches. But it put a strain upon him, of course; playing a part always does. He got worse underneath.â

âUnderneath,â whispered Audrey with a shudder. âAlways underneath. Nothing you could get hold of. Just sometimes a word or a look and then Iâd fancy Iâd imagined itâ¦Something queer. And then, as I say, I thought I must be queer. And I went on getting more and more afraidâthe kind of unreasoning fear, you know, that makes you sick!

âI told myself I was going madâbut I couldnât help it. I felt Iâd do anything in the world to get away! And then Adrian came and told me he loved me, and I thought it would be wonderful to go away with him, and he saidâ¦.â

She stopped.

âYou know what happened? I went off to meet Adrianâhe never cameâ¦he was killedâ¦I felt as though Nevile had managed it somehow.â

âPerhaps he did,â said Battle.

Audrey turned a startled face to him.

âOh, do you think so?â

âWeâll never know now. Motor accidents can be arranged. Donât brood on it, though, Mrs. Strange. As likely as not, it just happened naturally.â

âIâI was all broken up. I went back to the RectoryâAdrianâs home. We were going to have written to his mother, but as she didnât know about us, I thought I wouldnât tell her and give her pain. And Nevile came almost at once. He was very niceâandâkindâand all the time I talked to him I was quite sick with fear! He said no one need know about Adrian, that I could divorce him on evidence he would send me and that he was going to remarry afterwards. I felt so thankful. I knew he had thought Kay attractive and I hoped that everything would turn out right and that I should get over this queer obsession of mine. I still thought it must be me.

âBut I couldnât get rid of itâquite. I never felt Iâd really escaped. And then I met Nevile in the Park one day and he explained that he did so want me and Kay to be friends and suggested that we should all come here in September. I couldnât refuse, how could I? After all the kind things heâd done.â

ââWill you walk into my parlour? said the spider to the fly,ââ remarked Superintendent Battle.

Audrey shivered.

âYes, just thatâ¦.â

âVery clever he was about that,â said Battle. âProtested so loudly to everyone that it was his idea, that everyone at once got the impression that it wasnât.â

Audrey said:

âAnd then I got hereâand it was like a kind of nightmare. I knew something awful was going to happenâI knew Nevile meant it to happenâand that it was to happen to me. But I didnât know what it was. I think, you know, that I nearly did go off my head! I was just paralysed with frightâlike you are in a dream when somethingâs going to happen and you canât moveâ¦.â

âIâve always thought,â said Superintendent Battle, âthat Iâd like to have seen a snake fascinate a bird so that it canât fly awayâbut now Iâm not so sure.â

Audrey went on:

âEven when Lady Tressilian was killed, I didnât realize what it meant. I was puzzled. I didnât even suspect Nevile. I knew he didnât care about moneyâit was absurd to think heâd kill her in order to inherit fifty thousand pounds.

âI thought over and over again about Mr. Treves and the story he had told that evening. Even then I didnât connect it with Nevile. Treves had mentioned some physical peculiarity by which he could recognize the child of long ago. Iâve got a scar on my ear but I donât think anyone else has any sign that youâd notice.â

Battle said: âMiss Aldin has a lock of white hair. Thomas Royde has a stiff arm which might not have been only the result of an earthquake. Mr. Ted Latimer has rather an odd-shaped skull. And Nevile Strangeââ He paused.

âSurely there was no physical peculiarity about Nevile?â

âOh yes, there was. His left-hand little finger is shorter than his right. Thatâs very unusual, Mrs. Strangeâvery unusual indeed.â

âSo that was it?â

âThat was it.â

âAnd Nevile hung that sign on the lift?â

âYes. Nipped down there and back whilst Royde and Latimer were giving the old boy drinks. Clever and simpleâdoubt if we could ever prove that was murder.â

Audrey shivered again.

âNow, now,â said Battle. âItâs all over now, my dear. Go on talking.â

âYouâre very cleverâ¦I havenât talked so much for years!â

âNo! Thatâs whatâs been wrong. When did it first dawn on you what Master Nevileâs game was?â

âI donât know exactly. It came to me all at once. He himself had been cleared and that left all of us. And then, suddenly, I saw him looking at meâa sort of gloating look. And I knew! That was whenââ

She stopped abruptly.

âThat was when whatâ?â

Audrey said slowly:

âWhen I thought a quick way out would beâbest.â

Superintendent Battle shook his head.

âNever give in. Thatâs my motto.â

âOh, youâre quite right. But you donât know what it does to you being so afraid for so long. It paralyses youâyou canât thinkâyou canât planâyou just wait for something awful to happen. And then, when it does happenââshe gave a sudden quick smileââyouâd be surprised at the relief! No more waiting and fearingâitâs come. Youâll think Iâm quite demented, I suppose, if I tell you that when you came to arrest me for murder I didnât mind at all. Nevile had done his worst and it was over. I felt so safe going off with Inspector Leach.â

âThatâs partly why we did it,â said Battle. âI wanted you out of that madmanâs reach. And besides, if I wanted to break him down I wanted to be able to count on the shock of the reaction. Heâd seen his plan come off, as he thoughtâso the jolt would be all the greater.â

Audrey said in a low voice:

âIf he hadnât broken down would there have been any evidence?â

âNot too much. There was MacWhirterâs story of seeing a man climb up a rope in the moonlight. And there was the rope itself confirming his story, coiled up in the attic and still faintly damp. It was raining that night, you know.â

He paused and stared hard at Audrey as though he were expecting her to say something.

As she merely looked interested he went on:

âAnd there was the pinstripe suit. He stripped, of course, in the dark at that rocky point on the Easterhead Bay side, and thrust his suit into a niche in the rock. As it happened he put it down on a decayed bit of fish washed up by the flood tide. It made a stained patch on the shoulderâand it smelt. There was some talk, I found out, about the drains being wrong in the Hotel. Nevile himself put that story about. Heâd got his raincoat on over his suit, but the smell was a pervasive one. Then he got the wind up about that suit afterwards and at the first opportunity he took it off to the cleaners and like a fool, didnât give his own name. Took a name at random, actually one heâd seen in the Hotel register. Thatâs how your friend got hold of it and, having a good head on him, he linked it up with the man climbing up the rope. You step on decayed fish but you donât put your shoulder down on it unless you have taken your clothes off to bathe at night, and no one would bathe for pleasure on a wet night in September. He fitted the whole thing together. Very ingenious man, Mr. MacWhirter.â

âMore than ingenious,â said Audrey.

âMm, well, perhaps. Like to know about him? I can tell you something of his history.â

Audrey listened attentively. Battle found her a good listener.

She said:

âI owe a lot to himâand to you.â

âDonât owe very much to me,â said Superintendent Battle. âIf I hadnât been a fool Iâd have seen the point of that bell.â

âBell? What bell?â

âThe bell in Lady Tressilianâs room. Always did feel there was something wrong about that bell. I nearly got it, too, when I came down the stairs from the top floor and saw one of those poles you open windows with.

âThat was the whole point of the bell, seeâto give Nevile Strange an alibi. Lady T didnât remember what she had rung forâof course she didnât, because she hadnât rung at all! Nevile rang the bell from outside in the passage with that long pole, the wires ran along the ceiling. So down comes Barrett and sees Mr. Nevile Strange go downstairs and out, and she finds Lady Tressilian alive and well. The whole business of the maid was fishy. Whatâs the good of doping her for a murder thatâs going to be committed before midnight? Ten to one she wonât have gone off properly by then. But it fixes the murder as an inside job, and it allows a little time for Nevile to play his role of first suspectâthen Barrett speaks and Nevile is so triumphantly cleared that no one is going to inquire very closely as to exactly what time he got to the Hotel. We know he didnât cross back by ferry, and no boats had been taken. There remained the possibility of swimming. He was a powerful swimmer, but even then the time must have been short. Up the rope heâs left hanging into his bedroom and a good deal of water on the floor as we noticed (but without seeing the point, Iâm sorry to say). Then into his blue coat and trousers, along to Lady Tressilianâs roomâwe wonât go into thatâwouldnât have taken more than a couple of minutes, heâd fixed that steel ball beforehandâthen back, out of his clothes, down the rope and back to Easterhead.â

âSuppose Kay had come in?â

âSheâd been mildly doped, Iâll bet. She was yawning from dinner on, so they tell me. Besides, heâd taken care to have a quarrel with her so that sheâd lock her door and keep out of his way.â

âIâm trying to think if I noticed the ball was gone from the fender. I donât think I did. When did he put it back?â

âNext morning when all the hullabaloo arose. Once he got back in Ted Latimerâs car, he had all night to clear up his traces and fix things, mend the tennis racquet, etc. By the way, he hit the old lady back-handed, you know. Thatâs why the crime appeared to be left-handed. Strangeâs backhand was always his strong point, remember!â

âDonâtâdonâtââ Audrey put up her hands. âI canât bear any more.â

He smiled at her.

âAll the same itâs done you good to talk it all out. Mrs. Strange, may I be impertinent and give you some advice?â

âYes, please.â

âYou lived for eight years with a criminal lunaticâthatâs enough to sap any womanâs nerves. But youâve got to snap out of it now, Mrs. Strange. You donât need to be afraid any moreâand youâve got to make yourself realize that.â

Audrey smiled at him. The frozen look had gone from her face; it was a sweet, rather timid, but confiding face, with the wide-apart eyes full of gratitude.

She said, hesitating a little: âYou told the others there was a girlâa girl who acted as I did?â

Battle slowly nodded his head.

âMy own daughter,â he said. âSo you see, my dear, that miracle had to happen. These things are sent to teach us!â

III

Angus MacWhirter was packing.

He laid three shirts carefully in his suitcase, and then that dark blue suit which he had remembered to fetch from the cleaners. Two suits left by two different MacWhirters had been too much for the girl in charge.

There was a tap on the door and he called âCome in.â

Audrey Strange walked in. She said:

âIâve come to thank youâare you packing?â

âYes. Iâm leaving here tonight. And sailing the day after tomorrow.â

âFor South America?â

âFor Chile.â

She said:

âIâll pack for you.â

He protested, but she overbore him. He watched her as she worked deftly and methodically.

âThere,â she said when she had finished.

âYou did that well,â said MacWhirter.

There was a silence. Then Audrey said:

âYou saved my life. If you hadnât happened to see what you did seeââ

She broke off.

Then she said: âDid you realize at once, that night on the cliff when youâyou stopped me going overâwhen you said âGo home, Iâll see that youâre not hangedââdid you realize then that youâd got some important evidence?â

âNot precisely,â said MacWhirter. âI had to think it out.â

âThen how could you sayâwhat you did say?â

MacWhirter always felt annoyed when he had to explain the intense simplicity of his thought processes.

âI meant just precisely thatâthat I intended to prevent you from being hanged.â

The colour came up in Audreyâs cheeks.

âSupposing I had done it?â

âThat would have made no difference.â

âDid you think I had done it, then?â

âI didnât speculate on the matter overmuch. I was inclined to believe you were innocent, but it would have made no difference to my course of action.â

âAnd then you remembered the man on the rope?â

MacWhirter was silent for a few moments. then he cleared his throat.

âYou may as well know, I suppose. I did not actually see a man climbing up a ropeâindeed I could not have done so, for I was up on Stark Head on Sunday night, not on Monday. I deduced what must have happened from the evidence of the suit and my suppositions were confirmed by the findings of a wet rope in the attic.â

From red Audrey had gone white. She said incredulously:

âYour story was all a lie?â

âDeductions would not have carried weight with the police. I had to say I saw what happened.â

âButâyou might have had to swear to it at my trial.â

âYes.â

âYou would have done that?â

âI would.â

Audrey cried incredulously: âAnd youâyou are the man who lost his job and came down to throwing himself off a cliff because he wouldnât tamper with the truth!â

âI have a great regard for the truth. But Iâve discovered there are things that matter more.â

âSuch as?â

âYou,â said MacWhirter.

Audreyâs eyes dropped. MacWhirter cleared his throat in an embarrassed manner.

âThereâs no need for you to feel under a great obligation or anything of that kind. Youâll never hear of me again after today. The police have got Strangeâs confession and theyâll not need my evidence. In any case I hear heâs so bad heâll maybe not live to come to trial.â

âIâm glad of that,â said Audrey.

âYou were fond of him once?â

âOf the man I thought he was.â

MacWhirter nodded. âWeâve all felt that way, maybe.â He went on: âEverythingâs turned out well. Superintendent Battle was able to act upon my story and break down the manââ

Audrey interrupted. She said:

âHe worked upon your story, yes. But I donât believe you fooled him. He deliberately shut his eyes.â

âWhy do you say that?â

âWhen he was talking to me he mentioned it was lucky you saw what you did in the moonlight, and then added somethingâa sentence or two laterâabout its being a rainy night.â

MacWhirter was taken aback. âThatâs true. On Monday night I doubt if Iâd have seen anything at all.â

âIt doesnât matter,â said Audrey.

âHe knew that what you pretended to have seen was what had really happened. But it explains why he worked on Nevile to break him down. He suspected Nevile as soon as Thomas told him about me and Adrian. He knew then that if he was right about the kind of crimeâhe had fixed on the wrong personâwhat he wanted was some kind of evidence to use on Nevile. He wanted, as he said, a miracleâyou were Superintendent Battleâs answer to prayer.â

âThatâs a curious thing for him to say,â said MacWhirter dryly.

âSo you see,â said Audrey, âyou are a miracle. My special miracle.â

MacWhirter said earnestly:

âIâd not like you to feel youâre under an obligation to me. Iâm going right out of your lifeââ

âMust you?â said Audrey.

He stared at her. The colour came up, flooding her ears and temples.

She said:

âWonât you take me with you?â

âYou donât know what youâre saying!â

âYes, I do. Iâm doing something very difficultâbut that matters to me more than life or death. I know the time is very short. By the way, Iâm conventional, I should like to be married before we go!â

âNaturally,â said MacWhirter, deeply shocked. âYou donât imagine Iâd suggest anything else.â

âIâm sure you wouldnât,â said Audrey.

MacWhirter said:

âIâm not your kind. I thought youâd marry that quiet fellow whoâs cared for you so long.â

âThomas? Dear True Thomas. Heâs too true. Heâs faithful to the image of a girl he loved years ago. But the person he really cares for is Mary Aldin, though he doesnât know it yet himself.â

MacWhirter took a step towards her. He spoke sternly.

âDo you mean what youâre saying?â

âYesâ¦I want to be with you always, never to leave you. If you go I shall never find anybody like you, and I shall go lonely all my days.â

MacWhirter sighed. He took out his wallet and carefully examined its contents.

He murmured:

âA special licence comes expensive. Iâll need to go to the Bank first thing tomorrow.â

âI could lend you some money,â murmured Audrey.

âYouâll do nothing of the kind. If I marry a woman, I pay for the licence. You understand?â

âYou neednât,â said Audrey softly, âlook so stern.â

He said gently as he came towards her:

âLast time I had my hands on you, you felt like a birdâstruggling to escape. Youâll never escape nowâ¦.â

She said:

âI shall never want to escape.â

The Agatha Christie Collection

THE HERCULE POIROT MYSTERIES

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The Mysterious Affair at Styles

The Murder on the Links

Poirot Investigates

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

The Big Four

The Mystery of the Blue Train

Peril at End House

Lord Edgware Dies

Murder on the Orient Express

Three Act Tragedy

Death in the Clouds

The A.B.C. Murders

Murder in Mesopotamia

Cards on the Table

Murder in the Mews and Other Stories

Dumb Witness

Death on the Nile

Appointment with Death

Hercule Poirotâ€™s Christmas

Sad Cypress

One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

Evil Under the Sun

Five Little Pigs

The Hollow

The Labors of Hercules

Taken at the Flood

The Underdog and Other Stories

Mrs. McGintyâ€™s Dead

After the Funeral

Hickory Dickory Dock

Dead Manâ€™s Folly

Cat Among the Pigeons

The Clocks

Third Girl

Halloweâ€™en Party

Elephants Can Remember

Curtain: Poirotâ€™s Last Case

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THE MISS MARPLE MYSTERIES

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The Murder at the Vicarage

The Body in the Library

The Moving Finger

A Murder Is Announced

They Do It with Mirrors

A Pocket Full of Rye

4:50 From Paddington

The Mirror Crackâ€™d

A Caribbean Mystery

At Bertramâ€™s Hotel

Nemesis

Sleeping Murder

Miss Marple: The Complete Short Story Collection

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THE TOMMY AND TUPPENCE MYSTERIES

Jump on board with the entertaining crime-solving couple from Young Adventurers Ltd.

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The Secret Adversary

Partners in Crime

N or M?

By the Pricking of My Thumbs

Postern of Fate

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Donâ€™t miss a single one of Agatha Christieâ€™s stand-alone novels and short-story collections.

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The Man in the Brown Suit

The Secret of Chimneys

The Seven Dials Mystery

The Mysterious Mr. Quin

The Sittaford Mystery

Parker Pyne Investigates

Why Didnâ€™t They Ask Evans?

Murder Is Easy

The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories

And Then There Were None

Towards Zero

Death Comes as the End

Sparkling Cyanide

The Witness for the Prosecution and Other Stories

Crooked House

Three Blind Mice and Other Stories

They Came to Baghdad

Destination Unknown

Ordeal by Innocence

Double Sin and Other Stories

The Pale Horse

Star over Bethlehem: Poems and Holiday Stories

Endless Night

Passenger to Frankfurt

The Golden Ball and Other Stories

The Mousetrap and Other Plays

The Harlequin Tea Set

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About the Author

Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time and in any language, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in 100 foreign languages. She is the author of eighty crime novels and short-story collections, nineteen plays, two memoirs, and six novels written under the name Mary Westmacott.

She first tried her hand at detective fiction while working in a hospital dispensary during World War I, creating the now legendary Hercule Poirot with her debut novel The Mysterious Affair at Styles. With The Murder in the Vicarage, published in 1930, she introduced another beloved sleuth, Miss Jane Marple. Additional series characters include the husband-and-wife crime-fighting team of Tommy and Tuppence Beresford, private investigator Parker Pyne, and Scotland Yard detectives Superintendent Battle and Inspector Japp.

Many of Christieâ€™s novels and short stories were adapted into plays, films, and television series. The Mousetrap, her most famous play of all, opened in 1952 and is the longest-running play in history. Among her best-known film adaptations are Murder on the Orient Express (1974) and Death on the Nile (1978), with Albert Finney and Peter Ustinov playing Hercule Poirot, respectively. On the small screen Poirot has been most memorably portrayed by David Suchet, and Miss Marple by Joan Hickson and subsequently Geraldine McEwan and Julia McKenzie.

Christie was first married to Archibald Christie and then to archaeologist Sir Max Mallowan, whom she accompanied on expeditions to countries that would also serve as the settings for many of her novels. In 1971 she achieved one of Britainâ€™s highest honors when she was made a Dame of the British Empire. She died in 1976 at the age of eighty-five. Her one hundred and twentieth anniversary was celebrated around the world in 2010.

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THE AGATHA CHRISTIE COLLECTION

The Man in the Brown Suit

The Secret of Chimneys

The Seven Dials Mystery

The Mysterious Mr. Quin

The Sittaford Mystery

Parker Pyne Investigates

Why Didnâ€™t They Ask Evans?

Murder Is Easy

The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories

And Then There Were None

Towards Zero

Death Comes as the End

Sparkling Cyanide

The Witness for the Prosecution and Other Stories

Crooked House

Three Blind Mice and Other Stories

They Came to Baghdad

Destination Unknown

Ordeal by Innocence

Double Sin and Other Stories

The Pale Horse

Star over Bethlehem: Poems and Holiday Stories

Endless Night

Passenger to Frankfurt

The Golden Ball and Other Stories

The Mousetrap and Other Plays

The Harlequin Tea Set

The Hercule Poirot Mysteries

The Mysterious Affair at Styles

The Murder on the Links

Poirot Investigates

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

The Big Four

The Mystery of the Blue Train

Peril at End House

Lord Edgware Dies

Murder on the Orient Express

Three Act Tragedy

Death in the Clouds

The A.B.C. Murders

Murder in Mesopotamia

Cards on the Table

Murder in the Mews and Other Stories

Dumb Witness

Death on the Nile

Appointment with Death

Hercule Poirotâ€™s Christmas

Sad Cypress

One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

Evil Under the Sun

Five Little Pigs

The Hollow

The Labors of Hercules

Taken at the Flood

The Underdog and Other Stories

Mrs. McGintyâ€™s Dead

After the Funeral

Hickory Dickory Dock

Dead Manâ€™s Folly

Cat Among the Pigeons

The Clocks

Third Girl

Halloweâ€™en Party

Elephants Can Remember

Curtain: Poirotâ€™s Last Case

The Miss Marple Mysteries

The Murder at the Vicarage

The Body in the Library

The Moving Finger

A Murder Is Announced

They Do It with Mirrors

A Pocket Full of Rye

4:50 from Paddington

The Mirror Crackâ€™d

A Caribbean Mystery

At Bertramâ€™s Hotel

Nemesis

Sleeping Murder

Miss Marple: The Complete Short Story Collection

The Tommy and Tuppence Mysteries

The Secret Adversary

Partners in Crime

N or M?

By the Pricking of My Thumbs

Postern of Fate

Memoir

An Autobiography

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the authorâ€™s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

AGATHA CHRISTIEÂ® TOWARDS ZEROâ„¢. Copyright Â© 2011 Agatha Christie Limited (a Chorion company). All rights reserved. Towards Zero was first published in 1944.

TOWARDS ZERO. Copyright Â© 1944. Published by permission of G.P. Putnamâ€™s Sons, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-0-06-207354-9

EPub Edition Â© MAY 2011 ISBN: 978-0-06-200676-9

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