CONTENTS

TheHouseofDreamsTheActress(ATrapfortheUnwary)TheEdgeChristmasAdventure(TheTheftoftheRoyalRuby)TheLonelyGodManxGoldWithinaWallTheMysteryoftheBaghdadChestWhiletheLightLasts

THEHOUSEOFDREAMS

Thisis thestoryofJohnSegrave-ofhis life,whichwasunsatisfactory;ofhislove,whichwasunsatisfied;ofhisdreams,andofhisdeath;and if in the twolatterhefoundwhatwasdeniedinthetwoformer,thenhislifemay,afterall,betakenasasuccess.Whoknows?

JohnSegravecameofafamilywhichhadbeenslowlygoingdownthehillforthelastcentury.TheyhadbeenlandownerssincethedaysofElizabeth,buttheirlastpieceofpropertywassold.Itwasthoughtwellthatoneofthesonsatleastshouldacquiretheusefulartofmoney-making.ItwasanunconsciousironyofFatethatJohnshouldbetheonechosen.

With his strangely sensitive mouth, and the long dark blue slits of eyes thatsuggestedanelforafaun,somethingwildandofthewoods,itwasincongruousthatheshouldbeofferedup,asacrificeonthealtarofFinance.Thesmelloftheearth,thetasteoftheseasaltonone'slips,andthefreeskyaboveone'shead-thesewerethethingsbelovedbyJohnSegrave,towhichhewastobidfarewell.

Attheageofeighteenhebecameajuniorclerkinabigbusinesshouse.Sevenyears later he was still a clerk, not quite so junior, but with status otherwiseunchanged.Thefacultyfor"gettingonintheworld"hadbeenomittedfromhismakeup. He was punctual, industrious, plodding - a clerk and nothing but aclerk.Andyethemighthavebeen-what?Hecouldhardlyanswerthatquestionhimself,buthecouldnotridhimselfoftheconvictionthatsomewheretherewasalife inwhichhecouldhave-counted.Therewaspower inhim,swiftnessofvision,a somethingofwhichhis fellow toilershadneverhadaglimpse.Theyliked him.Hewas popular because of his air of careless friendship, and theyneverappreciatedthefactthathebarredthemoutbythatsamemannerfromanyrealintimacy.

The dream came to him suddenly. It was no childish fantasy growing and

developing through the years. It came on amidsummer night, or rather earlymorning, andhewoke from it tinglingallover, striving tohold it tohimas itfled,slippingfromhisclutchintheelusivewaydreamshave.

Desperatelyheclungtoit.Itmustnotgo-itmustnot-Hemustrememberthehouse. Itwas theHouse,ofcourse!TheHouseheknewsowell.Was ita realhouse, or did he merely know it in dreams? He didn't remember - but hecertainlyknewit-knewitverywell.

The faint grey light of the early morning was stealing into the room. Thestillnesswasextraordinary.At4:50a.m.London,wearyLondon,foundherbriefinstantofpeace.

JohnSegravelayquiet,wrappedinthejoy,theexquisitewonderandbeautyofhis dream.How clever it had been of him to remember it!A dream flitted soquicklyasa rule, ranpastyou justaswithwakingconsciousnessyourclumsyfingerssoughttostopandholdit.Buthehadbeentooquickforthisdream!Hehadseizeditasitwasslippingswiftlybyhim.

Itwasreallyamostremarkabledream!Therewasthehouseand-Histhoughtswere brought up with a jerk, for when he came to think of it, he couldn'trememberanythingbutthehouse.Andsuddenly,withatingeofdisappointment,herecognizedthat,afterall,thehousewasquitestrangetohim.Hehadn'tevendreamedofitbefore.

Itwas awhite house, standing on high ground.Therewere trees near it, bluehillsinthedistance,butitspeculiarcharmwasindependentofsurroundingsfor(andthiswasthepoint,theclimaxofthedream)itwasabeautiful,astrangelybeautiful house. His pulses quickened as he remembered anew the strangebeautyofthehouse.

The outside of it, of course, for he hadn't been inside. There had been noquestionofthat-noquestionofitwhatsoever.

Then, as thedingyoutlinesof his bed-sitting-roombegan to take shape in thegrowing light,heexperienced thedisillusionof thedreamer.Perhaps,afterall,hisdreamhadn'tbeensoverywonderful-orhadthewonderful,theexplanatorypart, slippedpasthim,and laughedathis ineffectualclutchinghands?Awhitehouse,standingonhighground- therewasn'tmuchthere togetexcitedabout,surely.Itwasratherabighouse,heremembered,withalotofwindowsinit,andthe blindswere all down, not because the peoplewere away (hewas sure ofthat),butbecauseitwassoearlythatnoonewasupyet.

Thenhelaughedattheabsurdityofhisimaginings,andrememberedthathewastodinewithMr.Wettermanthatnight.

Maisie Wetterman was Rudolf Wetterman's only daughter, and she had beenaccustomedallherlifetohavingexactlywhatshewanted.Payingavisittoherfather'sofficeoneday,shehadnoticedJohnSegrave.Hehadbrought insomelettersthatherfatherhadaskedfor.Whenhehaddepartedagain,sheaskedherfatherabouthim.Wettermanwascommunicative.

"OneofSirEdwardSegrave'ssons.Fineoldfamily,butonitslastlegs.ThisboywillneversettheThamesonfire.Ilikehimallright,butthere'snothingtohim.Nopunchofanykind."

Maisiewas,perhaps, indifferent topunch. Itwasaqualityvaluedmorebyherparent than herself. Anyway, a fortnight later she persuaded her father to askJohnSegrave todinner. Itwas an intimatedinner, herself andher father, JohnSegrave,andagirlfriendwhowasstayingwithher.

Thegirlfriendwasmovedtomakeafewremarks.

"Onapproval,Isuppose,Maisie?Later,fatherwilldoitupinanicelittleparceland bring it home from the city as a present to his dear little daughter, dulyboughtandpaidfor."

"Allegra!Youarethelimit."

AllegraKerrlaughed.

"Youdotakefancies,youknow,Maisie.Ilikethathat-Imusthaveit!Ifhats,whynothusbands?"

"Don'tbeabsurd.I'vehardlyspokentohimyet."

"No.Butyou'vemadeupyourmind,"saidtheothergirl."What'stheattraction,Maisie?"

"Idon'tknow,"saidMaisieWettermanslowly."He's-different."

"Different?"

"Yes.Ican'texplain.He'sgood-looking,youknow,inaqueersortofway,butit'snotthat.He'sawayofnotseeingyou'rethere.Really,Idon'tbelieveheasmuchasglancedatmethatdayinfather'soffice."

Allegralaughed.

"That'sanoldtrick.Ratheranastuteyoungman,Ishouldsay."

"Allegra,you'rehateful!"

"Cheerup,darling.FatherwillbuyawoolylambforhislittleMaisiekins."

"Idon'twantittobelikethat."

"LovewithacapitalL.Isthatit?"

"Whyshouldn'thefallinlovewithme?"

"Noreasonatall.Iexpecthewill."

Allegra smiled as she spoke, and let her glance sweep over the other.MaisieWettermanwasshort - inclined tobeplump- shehaddarkhair,well shingledand artistically waved. Her naturally good complexion was enhanced by thelatestcolorsinpowderandlipstick.Shehadagoodmouthandteeth,darkeyes,rathersmallandtwinkly,andajawandchinslightlyontheheavyside.Shewasbeautifullydressed.

"Yes," said Allegra, finishing her scrutiny. "I've no doubt he will. The wholeeffectisreallyverygood,Maisie."

Herfriendlookedatherdoubtfully.

"Imeanit,"saidAllegra."Imeanit -honorbright.But justsupposing,for thesakeofargument,thatheshouldn't.Fallinlove,Imean.Supposehisaffectiontobecomesincere,butplatonic.Whatthen?"

"ImaynotlikehimatallwhenIknowhimbetter."

"Quiteso.Ontheotherhandyoumaylikehimverymuchindeed.Andinthatlattercase-"

Maisieshruggedhershoulders.

"IshouldhopeI'vetoomuchpride-"

Allegrainterrupted.

"Pride comes in handy for masking one's feelings - it doesn't stop you fromfeelingthem."

"Well,"saidMaisie,flushed."Idon'tseewhyIshouldn'tsayit.Iamaverygoodmatch.Imeanfromhispointofview,father'sdaughterandeverything."

"Partnershipintheoffing,etcetera,"saidAllegra."Yes,Maisie.You'refather'sdaughter,allright.I'mawfullypleased.Idolikemyfriendstoruntruetotype."

Thefaintmockeryofhertonemadetheotheruneasy.

"Youarehateful,Allegra."

"Butstimulating,darling.That'swhyyouhavemehere.I'mastudentofhistory,you know, and it always intriguedmewhy the court jesterwas permitted andencouraged.NowthatI'monemyself,Iseethepoint.It'sratheragoodrôle,yousee,Ihadtodosomething.TherewasI,proudandpennilessliketheheroineofanovelette,wellbornandbadlyeducated. 'Whattodo,girl?Godwot,'saithshe.Thepoorrelationtypeofgirl,allwillingnesstodowithoutafireinherroomandcontent todooddjobsand 'helpdearCousinSo-and-So,' Iobserved tobeatapremium.Nobody reallywants her - except thosepeoplewho can't keep theirservants,andtheytreatherlikeagalleyslave.

"So Ibecame thecourt fool. Insolence,plain speaking,adashofwitnowandagain(nottoomuchlestIshouldhavetoliveuptoit),andbehinditall,averyshrewdobservationofhumannature.Peopleratherlikebeingtoldhowhorriblethey really are. That's why they flock to popular preachers. It's been a greatsuccess.I'malwaysoverwhelmedwithinvitations.Icanliveonmyfriendswiththegreatestease,andI'mcarefultomakenopretenceofgratitude."

"There's no one quite like you,Allegra.Youdon'tmind in the leastwhat yousay."

"That'swhereyou'rewrong.Imindverymuch- I takecareand thoughtaboutthe matter. My seeming outspokenness is always calculated. I've got to becareful.Thisjobhasgottocarrymeontooldage."

"Whynotmarry?Iknowheapsofpeoplehaveaskedyou."

Allegra'sfacegrewsuddenlyhard.

"Icannevermarry."

"Because-"Maisieleftthesentenceunfinished,lookingatherfriend.Thelattergaveashortnodofassent.

Footsteps were heard on the stairs. The butler threw open the door andannounced:

"Mr.Segrave."

John came inwithout anyparticular enthusiasm.He couldn't imaginewhy theoldboyhadaskedhim.Ifhecouldhavegotoutofithewouldhavedoneso.Thehousedepressedhim,withitssolidmagnificenceandthesoftpileofitscarpet.

Agirlcameforwardandshookhandswithhim.Herememberedvaguelyhavingseenheronedayinherfather'soffice.

"Howdoyoudo,Mr.Segrave?Mr.Segrave-MissKerr."

Then he woke. Who was she? Where did she come from? From the flame-coloreddraperiesthatfloatedroundher,tothetinyMercurywingsonhersmallGreekhead,shewasabeingtransitoryandfugitive,standingoutagainstthedullbackgroundwithaneffectofunreality.

RudolphWettermancamein,hisbroadexpanseofgleamingshirtfrontcreakingashewalked.Theywentdowninformallytodinner.

AllegraKerr talked toherhost.JohnSegravehad todevotehimself toMaisie.But his whole mind was on the girl on the other side of him. She wasmarvelously effective. Her effectiveness was, he thought, more studied thannatural. But behind all that, there lay something else. Flickering fire, fitful,capricious,likethewill-o'-the-wispsthatofoldluredmenintothemarshes.

Atlasthegotachancetospeaktoher.Maisiewasgivingherfatheramessagefromsomefriendshehadmetthatday.Nowthatthemomenthadcome,hewastongue-tied.Hisglancepleadedwithherdumbly.

"Dinner-tabletopics,"shesaidlightly."Shallwestartwiththetheatres,orwithoneofthoseinnumerableopenings,beginning,'Doyoulike-?'"

Johnlaughed.

"And ifwe findweboth likedogsanddislikesandycats, itwill formwhat iscalleda'bond'betweenus?"

"Assuredly,"saidAllegragravely.

"Itis,Ithink,apitytobeginwithacatechism."

"Yetitputsconversationwithinthereachofall."

"True,butwithdisastrousresults."

"Itisusefultoknowtherules-ifonlytobreakthem."

Johnsmiledather.

"I take it, then, thatyouandIwill indulgeourpersonalvagaries.Even thoughwedisplaytherebythegeniusthatisakintomadness."

With a sharp unguardedmovement, the girl's hand swept a wineglass off thetable. There was the tinkle of broken glass. Maisie and her father stoppedspeaking.

"I'msosorry,Mr.Wetterman.I'mthrowingglassesonthefloor."

"MydearAllegra, it doesn'tmatter at all, not at all."Beneath his breath JohnSegrave said quickly: "Broken glass. That's bad luck. I wish - it hadn'thappened."

"Don'tworry.Howdoesitgo?'Illluckthoucanstnotbringwhereillluckhasitshome.'"

SheturnedoncemoretoWetterman.John,resumingconversationwithMaisie,tried to place the quotation. He got it at last. They were the words used bySieglindeintheWalkürewhenSigmundofferstoleavethehouse.

Hethought:"Didshemean-"

ButMaisiewasaskinghisopinionofthelatestrevue.Soonhehadadmittedthathewasfondofmusic.

"Afterdinner,"saidMaisie,"we'llmakeAllegraplayforus."

Theyallwentuptothedrawingroomtogether.Secretly,Wettermanconsidereditabarbarouscustom.

Helikedtheponderousgravityofthewinepassinground,thehandedcigars.Butperhapsitwasaswelltonight.Hedidn'tknowwhatonearthhecouldfindtosaytoyoungSegrave.Maisiewastoobadwithherwhims.Itwasn'tas thoughthefellow were good-looking - really good-looking - and certainly he wasn'tamusing. He was glad when Maisie asked Allegra Kerr to play. They'd getthroughtheeveningsooner.Theyoungidiotdidn'tevenplaybridge.

Allegraplayedwell,thoughwithoutthesuretouchofaprofessional.Sheplayedmodernmusic,DebussyandStrauss,alittleScriabine.Thenshedroppedintothefirst movement of Beethoven's Pathétique, that expression of a grief that isinfinite,asorrowthatisendlessandvastastheages,butinwhichfromendtoendbreathes the spirit thatwillnot acceptdefeat. In the solemnityofundyingwoe,itmoveswiththerhythmoftheconquerortoitsfinaldoom.

Towards the end she faltered, her fingers struck a discord, and she broke offabruptly.ShelookedacrossatMaisieandlaughedmockingly.

"Yousee,"shesaid."Theywon'tletme."

Then, without waiting for a reply to her somewhat enigmatical remark, sheplungedintoastrangehauntingmelody,athingofweirdharmoniesandcuriousmeasured rhythm,quiteunlikeanythingSegravehadeverheardbefore. Itwasdelicate as the flight of a bird, poised, hovering - Suddenly,without the leastwarning, it turned into a mere discordant jangle of notes, and Allegra roselaughingfromthepiano.

Inspiteofherlaugh,shelookeddisturbedandalmostfrightened.ShesatdownbyMaisie,andJohnheardthelattersayinalowtonetoher:

"Youshouldn'tdoit.Youreallyshouldn'tdoit."

"Whatwasthelastthing?"Johnaskedeagerly.

"Somethingofmyown."

Shespokesharplyandcurtly.Wettermanchangedthesubject.

ThatnightJohnSegravedreamedagainoftheHouse.

Johnwasunhappy.Hislifewasirksometohimasneverbefore.Uptonowhehadaccepteditpatiently-adisagreeablenecessity,butonewhichlefthisinnerfreedomessentiallyuntouched.Nowallthatwaschanged.Theouterworldandtheinnerintermingled.

Hedidnotdisguisetohimselfthereasonforthechange.HehadfalleninloveatfirstsightwithAllegraKerr.Whatwashegoingtodoaboutit?

Hehadbeentoobewilderedthatfirstnighttomakeanyplans.Hehadnoteventriedtoseeheragain.Alittlelater,whenMaisieWettermanaskedhimdowntoher father's place in the country for a weekend, he went eagerly, but he wasdisappointed,forAllegrawasnotthere.

Hementionedheronce,tentatively,toMaisie,andshetoldhimthatAllegrawasup inScotlandpayingavisit.He left it at that.Hewouldhave liked togoontalkingabouther,butthewordsseemedtostickinhisthroat.

Maisiewaspuzzledbyhimthatweekend.Hedidn'tappeartosee-well,toseewhatwassoplainlytobeseen.Shewasadirectyoungwomaninhermethods,but directness was lost upon John. He thought her kind, but a little

overpowering.

Yet the Fates were stronger than Maisie. They willed that John should seeAllegraagain.

TheymetintheparkoneSundayafternoon.Hehadseenherfromfaroff,andhis heart thumped against the side of his ribs. Supposing she should haveforgottenhim-

Butshehadnotforgotten.Shestoppedandspoke. Inafewminutes theywerewalkingsidebyside,strikingoutacrossthegrass.Hewasridiculouslyhappy.

Hesaidsuddenlyandunexpectedly:"Doyoubelieveindreams?"

"Ibelieveinnightmares."

Theharshnessofhervoicestartledhim.

"Nightmares,"hesaidstupidly."Ididn'tmeannightmares."

Allegralookedathim.

"No,"shesaid."Therehavebeennonightmaresinyourlife.Icanseethat."

Hervoicewasgentle-different-

Hetoldherthenofhisdreamofthewhitehouse,stammeringalittle.Hehadhaditnowsix-no,seventimes.Alwaysthesame.Itwasbeautiful-sobeautiful!

Hewenton.

"Yousee-it'stodowithyou-insomeway.IhaditfirstthenightbeforeImetyou-"

"Todowithme?"Shelaughed-ashortbitterlaugh."Oh,no,that'simpossible.Thehousewasbeautiful."

"Soareyou,"saidJohnSegrave.

Allegraflushedalittlewithannoyance.

"I'msorry-Iwasstupid.Iseemedtoaskforacompliment,didn'tI?ButIdidn'treallymeanthatatall.Theoutsideofmeisallright,Iknow."

"I haven't seen the inside of the house yet," said JohnSegrave. "When I do Iknowitwillbequiteasbeautifulastheoutside."

He spoke slowly and gravely, giving the words a meaning that she chose to

ignore.

"ThereissomethingmoreIwanttotellyou-ifyouwilllisten."

"Iwilllisten,"saidAllegra.

"Iamchuckingupthisjobofmine.Ioughttohavedoneitlongago-Iseethatnow.Ihavebeencontent todriftalongknowingIwasanutterfailure,withoutcaringmuch, just livingfromday today.Amanshouldn'tdo that. It'saman'sbusinesstofindsomethinghecandoandmakeasuccessofit.I'mchuckingthis,and taking on something else - quite a different sort of thing. It's a kind ofexpeditioninWestAfrica-Ican'ttellyouthedetails.They'renotsupposedtobeknown;butifitcomesoffwell,Ishallbearichman."

"Soyou,too,countsuccessintermsofmoney?"

"Money,"saidJohnSegrave,"meansjustonethingtome-you!WhenIcomeback-"hepaused.

Shebentherhead.Herfacehadgrownverypale.

"Iwon'tpretendtomisunderstand.That'swhyImusttellyounow,onceandforall:Ishallnevermarry."

Hestayedalittlewhileconsidering,thenhesaidverygently:

"Can'tyoutellmewhy?"

"Icould,butmorethananythingintheworldIwantnottotellyou."

Againhewassilent,thenhelookedupsuddenlyandasingularlyattractivesmileilluminedhisfaun'sface.

"Isee,"hesaid."Soyouwon'tletmecomeinsidetheHouse-noteventopeepinforasecond?Theblindsaretostaydown."

Allegraleanedforwardandlaidherhandonhis.

"Iwilltellyouthismuch.YoudreamofyourHouse.ButI-Idon'tdream.Mydreamsarenightmares!"

And on that she left him, abruptly, disconcertingly. That night, oncemore, hedreamed.Oflate,hehadrealizedthattheHousewasmostcertainlytenanted.Hehadseenahanddrawaside theblinds,hadcaughtglimpsesofmovingfigureswithin.

Tonight theHouse seemed fairer than it had ever done before. Itswhitewallsshoneinthesunlight.Thepeaceandthebeautyofitwerecomplete.

Then,suddenly,hebecameawareofafullerrippleofthewavesofjoy.Someonewascomingtothewindow.Heknewit.Ahand,thesamehandthathehadseenbefore,laidholdoftheblind,drawingitback.Inaminutehewouldsee-

Hewas awake - still quiveringwith thehorror, theunutterable loathingof theThingthathadlookedoutathimfromthewindowoftheHouse.

ItwasaThingutterlyandwhollyhorrible,aThingsovileandloathsomethatthemere remembrance of it made him feel sick. And he knew that the mostunutterablyandhorriblyvilethingaboutitwasitspresenceinthatHouse-theHouseofBeauty.

ForwherethatThingabodewashorror-horrorthatroseupandslewthepeaceand the serenity which were the birthright of the House. The beauty, thewonderful immortalbeautyof theHousewasdestroyedforever, forwithin itsholyconsecratedwallstheredwelttheShadowofanUncleanThing!

Ifeveragainheshoulddreamof theHouse,Segraveknewhewouldawakeatoncewithastartofterror,lestfromitswhitebeautythatThingmightsuddenlylookoutathim.

The following evening, when he left the office, he went straight to theWettermans'house.HemustseeAllegraKerr.Maisiewouldtellhimwhereshewastobefound.

HenevernoticedtheeagerlightthatflashedintoMaisie'seyesashewasshownin,andshejumpeduptogreethim.Hestammeredouthisrequestatonce,withherhandstillinhis.

"MissKerr.Imetheryesterday,butIdon'tknowwhereshe'sstaying."

HedidnotfeelMaisie'shandgrowlimpinhisasshewithdrewit.Thesuddencoldnessofhervoicetoldhimnothing.

"Allegraishere-stayingwithus.ButI'mafraidyoucan'tseeher."

"But-"

"Yousee,hermotherdiedthismorning.We'vejusthadthenews."

"Oh!"Hewastakenaback.

"Itisallverysad,"saidMaisie.Shehesitatedjustaminute,thenwenton."Yousee,shediedin-well,practicallyanasylum.There'sinsanityinthefamily.Thegrandfathershothimself,andoneofAllegra'sauntsisahopelessimbecile,andanotherdrownedherself."

JohnSegravemadeaninarticulatesound.

"IthoughtIoughttotellyou,"saidMaisievirtuously."We'resuchfriends,aren'twe?AndofcourseAllegra isveryattractive.Lotsofpeoplehaveaskedher tomarrythem,butnaturallyshewon'tmarryatall-shecouldn't,couldshe?"

"She'sallright,"saidSegrave."There'snothingwrongwithher."

Hisvoicesoundedhoarseandunnaturalinhisownears.

"Oneneverknows;hermotherwasquiteallrightwhenshewasyoung.Andshewasn'tjust-peculiar,youknow.Shewasquiteravingmad.It'sadreadfulthing-insanity."

"Yes,"hesaid,"it'samostawfulThing-"

HeknewnowwhatitwasthathadlookedathimfromthewindowoftheHouse.

Maisiewasstilltalkingon.Heinterruptedherbrusquely.

"Ireallycametosaygoodbye-andtothankyouforallyourkindness."

"You'renot-goingaway?"

Therewasalarminhervoice.

Hesmiledsidewaysather-acrookedsmile,patheticandattractive.

"Yes,"hesaid."ToAfrica."

"Africa!"

Maisieechoed thewordblankly.Beforeshecouldpullherself togetherhehadshaken her by the hand and gone. She was left standing there, her handsclenchedbyhersides,anangryspotofcolorineachcheek.

Below,onthedoorstep,JohnSegravecamefacetofacewithAllegracominginfrom the street. She was in black, her face white and lifeless. She took oneglanceathimthendrewhimintoasmallmorningroom.

"Maisietoldyou,"shesaid."Youknow?"

Henodded.

"Butwhatdoesitmatter?You'reallright.It-itleavessomepeopleout."

Shelookedathimsomberly,mournfully.

"Youareallright,"herepeated.

"I don't know," she almostwhispered it. "I don't know. I told you - aboutmydreams.AndwhenIplay-whenI'matthepiano-thoseotherscomeandtakeholdofmyhands."

He was staring at her - paralyzed. For one instant, as she spoke, somethinglooked out from her eyes. Itwas gone in a flash - but he knew it. Itwas theThingthathadlookedoutfromtheHouse.

Shecaughthismomentaryrecoil.

"Yousee,"shewhispered."Yousee-ButIwishMaisiehadn'ttoldyou.Ittakeseverythingfromyou."

"Everything?"

"Yes.Therewon'tevenbethedreamsleft.Fornow-you'llneverdaretodreamoftheHouseagain."

TheWestAfricansunpoureddown,andtheheatwasintense.

JohnSegravecontinuedtomoan.

"Ican'tfindit.Ican'tfindit."

The little English doctor with the red head and the tremendous jaw scowleddownuponhispatientinthatbullyingmannerwhichhehadmadehisown.

"He'salwayssayingthat.Whatdoeshemean?"

"He speaks, I think, of a house, monsieur." The soft-voiced Sister of CharityfromtheRomanCatholicMissionspokewithhergentledetachment,asshetoolookeddownonthestrickenman.

"A house, eh?Well, he's got to get it out of his head, or we shan't pull himthrough.It'sonhismind.Segrave!Segrave!"

The wandering attention was fixed. The eyes rested with recognition on thedoctor'sface.

"Look here, you're going to pull through. I'm going to pull you through. Butyou'vegot to stopworryingabout thishouse. It can't runaway,youknow.Sodon'tbotheraboutlookingforitnow."

"All right."He seemedobedient. "I suppose it can't verywell run away if it'sneverbeenthereatall."

"Ofcoursenot!"Thedoctorlaughedhischeerylaugh."Nowyou'llbeallrightinnotime."Andwithaboisterousbluntnessofmannerhetookhisdeparture.

Segravelaythinking.Thefeverhadabatedforthemoment,andhecouldthinkclearlyandlucidly.HemustfindthatHouse.

Fortenyearshehaddreadedfindingit-thethoughtthathemightcomeuponitunawareshadbeenhisgreatestterror.Andthen,heremembered,whenhisfearswerequitelulledtorest,onedayithadfoundhim.Herecalledclearlyhisfirsthauntingterror,andthenhissudden,hisexquisite,relief.For,afterall,theHousewasempty!

Quite empty and exquisitely peaceful. It was as he remembered it ten yearsbefore. He had not forgotten. There was a huge black furniture van movingslowly away from theHouse. The last tenant, of course,moving outwith hisgoods.Hewentuptothemeninchargeofthevanandspoketothem.Therewassomethingrathersinisterabout thatvan, itwassoveryblack.Thehorseswereblack, too, with freely flowing manes and tails, and the men all wore blackclothes and gloves. It all reminded him of something else, something that hecouldn'tremember.

Yes,hehadbeenquiteright.Thelasttenantwasmovingout,ashisleasewasup.TheHousewastostandemptyforthepresent,untiltheownercamebackfromabroad.

Andwaking,hehadbeenfullofthepeacefulbeautyoftheemptyHouse.

A month after that, he had received a letter from Maisie (she wrote to himperseveringly,onceamonth).InitshetoldhimthatAllegraKerrhaddiedinthesame home as her mother, and wasn't it dreadfully sad? Though of course amercifulrelease.

Ithadreallybeenveryoddindeed.Comingafterhisdreamlikethat.Hedidn'tquiteunderstanditall.Butitwasodd.

And the worst of it was that he'd never been able to find the House since.

Somehow,he'dforgottentheway.

Thefeverbegantotakeholdofhimoncemore.Hetossedrestlessly.Ofcourse,he'dforgotten,theHousewasonhighground!Hemustclimbtogetthere.Butitwashotworkclimbingcliffs-dreadfullyhot.Up,up,up-Oh!hehadslipped!Hemuststartagainfromthebottom.Up,up,up-dayspassed,weeks-hewasn'tsurethatyearsdidn'tgoby!Andhewasstillclimbing.

Onceheheardthedoctor'svoice.Buthecouldn'tstopclimbingtolisten.BesidesthedoctorwouldtellhimtoleaveofflookingfortheHouse.Hethoughtitwasanordinaryhouse.Hedidn'tknow.

Herememberedsuddenlythathemustbecalm,verycalm.Youcouldn'tfindtheHouse unless you were very calm. It was no use looking for the House in ahurry,orbeingexcited.

Ifhecouldonlykeepcalm!Butitwassohot!Hot?Itwascold-yes,cold.Theseweren'tcliffs,theywereicebergs-jagged,coldicebergs.

Hewassotired.Hewouldn'tgoonlooking-itwasnogood-Ah!herewasalane-thatwasbetterthanicebergs,anyway.Howpleasantandshadyitwasinthecool,greenlane.Andthosetrees-theyweresplendid!Theywereratherlike-what?Hecouldn'tremember,butitdidn'tmatter.

Ah!herewere flowers.Allgoldenandblue!How lovely it allwas - andhowstrangelyfamiliar.Ofcourse,hehadbeenherebefore.There,throughthetrees,wasthegleamoftheHouse,standingonthehighground.Howbeautifulitwas.Thegreenlaneandthetreesandtheflowerswereasnothingtotheparamount,theall-satisfyingbeautyoftheHouse.

He hastened his steps. To think that he had never yet been inside! Howunbelievablystupidofhim-whenhehadthekeyinhispocketallthetime!

Andofcourse thebeautyof theexteriorwasasnothing to thebeauty that laywithin-especiallynowthattheOwnerhadcomebackfromabroad.Hemountedthestepstothegreatdoor.

Cruelstronghandsweredragginghimback!Theyfoughthim,dragginghimtoandfro,backwardsandforwards.

Thedoctorwasshakinghim,roaringinhisear.

"Holdon,man,youcan.Don'tletgo.Don'tletgo."Hiseyeswerealightwiththefiercenessofonewhoseesanenemy.SegravewonderedwhotheEnemywas.

Theblack-robednunwaspraying.That,too,wasstrange.

And all he wantedwas to be left alone. To go back to the House. For everyminutetheHousewasgrowingfainter.

That,ofcourse,wasbecausethedoctorwassostrong.Hewasn'tstrongenoughtofightthedoctor.Ifheonlycould.

But stop! There was another way - the way dreams went in the moment ofwaking.Nostrengthcouldstopthem-theyjustflittedpast.Thedoctor'shandswouldn'tbeabletoholdhimifheslipped-justslipped!

Yes, that was the way! The white walls were visible oncemore, the doctor'svoicewasfainter,hishandswerebarelyfelt.Heknewnowhowdreams laughwhentheygiveyoutheslip!

Hewasat thedooroftheHouse.Theexquisitestillnesswasunbroken.Heputthekeyinthelockandturnedit.

Justamomenthewaited,torealizetothefulltheperfect,theineffable,theall-satisfyingcompletenessofjoy.

Then-hepassedovertheThreshold.

THEACTRESS

The shabby man in the fourth row of the pit leaned forward and staredincredulouslyatthestage.Hisshiftyeyesnarrowedfurtively.

"NancyTaylor!"hemuttered."BytheLord,littleNancyTaylor!"

Hisglancedroppedtotheprograminhishand.Onenamewasprintedinslightlylargertypethantherest.

"OlgaStormer!Sothat'swhatshecallsherself.Fancyyourselfastar,don'tyou,my lady? And you must be making a pretty little pot of money, too. QuiteforgottenyournamewaseverNancyTaylor,Idaresay.Iwondernow-Iwondernowwhatyou'dsayifJakeLevittshouldremindyouofthefact?"

The curtain fell on the close of the first act. Hearty applause filled theauditorium. Olga Stormer, the great emotional actress, whose name in a fewshortyearshadbecomeahouseholdword,wasaddingyetanothertriumphtoherlistofsuccessesas"Cora",inTheAvengingAngel.

JakeLevittdidnot join in theclapping,butaslow,appreciativegringraduallydistendedhismouth.God!Whatluck!Justwhenhewasonhisbeam-ends,too.She'd try to bluff it out, he supposed, but she couldn't put it over on him.Properlyworked,thethingwasagoldmine!

OnthefollowingmorningthefirstworkingsofJakeLevitt'sgoldminebecameapparent. In her drawing room,with its red lacquer and black hangings,OlgaStormerreadandrereadaletterthoughtfully.Herpaleface,withitsexquisitelymobile features,was a littlemore set than usual, and every now and then thegrey-greeneyesunderthelevelbrowssteadilyenvisagedthemiddledistance,asthough she contemplated the threat behind rather than the actualwords of theletter.

Inthatwonderfulvoiceofhers,whichcouldthrobwithemotionorbeasclear-cutastheclickofatypewriter,Olgacalled:"MissJones!"

Aneatyoungwomanwith spectacles, a shorthandpadandapencil clasped inherhand,hastenedfromanadjoiningroom.

"RingupMr.Danahan,please,andaskhimtocomeround,immediately."

Syd Danahan, Olga Stormer's manager, entered the room with the usualapprehensionofthemanwhoselifeitistodealwithandovercomethevagariesoftheartisticfeminine.Tocoax,tosoothe,tobully,oneatatimeoralltogether,suchwashisdaily routine.Tohis relief,Olgaappearedcalmandreposed,andmerelyflickedanoteacrossthetabletohim.

"Readthat."

Theletterwasscrawledinanilliteratehand,ofcheappaper.

DearMadam,

ImuchappreciatedyourperformanceinTheAvengingAngellastnight.Ifancywe have a mutual friend in Miss Nancy Taylor, late of Chicago. An articleregarding her is to be published shortly. If youwould care to discuss same, Icouldcalluponyouatanytimeconvenienttoyourself.

Yoursrespectfully,

JakeLevitt

Danahanlookedlightlybewildered,

"Idon'tquitegetit.WhoisthisNancyTaylor?"

"Agirlwhowouldbebetterdead,Danny."Therewasbitternessinhervoiceandaweariness that revealedher thirty-fouryears."Agirlwhowasdeaduntil thiscarrioncrowbroughthertolifeagain."

"Oh!Then..."

"Me,Danny.Justme."

"Thismeansblackmail,ofcourse?"

Shenodded."Ofcourse,andbyamanwhoknowstheartthoroughly."

Danahan frowned,considering thematter.Olga,hercheekpillowedona long,slenderhand,watchedhimwithunfathomableeyes.

"Whataboutbluff?Denyeverything.Hecan'tbesurethathehasn'tbeenmisledbyachanceresemblance."

Olgashookherhead.

"Levittmakeshislivingbyblackmailingwomen.He'ssureenough."

"Thepolice?"hintedDanahandoubtfully.

Herfaint,derisivesmilewasanswerenough.Beneathherself-control,thoughhedidnotguess it,was the impatienceof thekeenbrainwatchingaslowerbrainlaboriouslycoverthegroundithadalreadytraversedinaflash.

"Youdon't-er-thinkitmightbewiseforyouto-er-saysomethingyourselftoSirRichard?Thatwouldpartlyspikehisguns."

The actress's engagement toSirRichardEverard,M.P., hadbeen announced afewweekspreviously.

"ItoldRichardeverythingwhenheaskedmetomarryhim."

"Myword,thatwascleverofyou!"saidDanahanadmiringly.

Olgasmiledalittle.

"Itwasn'tcleverness,Dannydear.Youwouldn'tunderstand.Allthesame,ifthismanLevittdoeswhathethreatens,mynumberisup,andincidentallyRichard'sParliamentarycareergoessmash,too.No,asfarasIcansee,thereareonlytwothingstodo."

"Well?"

"Topay-andthatofcourseisendless!Ortodisappear,startagain."

Thewearinesswasagainveryapparentinhervoice.

"It isn'tevenas thoughI'ddoneanythingIregretted.Iwasahalf-starvedlittlegutterwaif,Danny,strivingtokeepstraight.Ishotaman,abeastofamanwhodeservedtobeshot.ThecircumstancesunderwhichIkilledhimweresuchthatnojuryonearthwouldhaveconvictedme.Iknowthatnow,butatthetimeIwasonlyafrightenedkid-and-Iran."

Danahannodded.

"Isuppose,"hesaiddoubtfully,"there'snothingagainstthismanLevittwecouldgetholdof?"

Olgashookherhead.

"Veryunlikely.He'stoomuchofacowardtogoinforevil-doing."Thesoundofherownwordsseemedtostrikeher."Acoward!Iwonderifwecouldn'tworkonthatinsomeway."

"IfSirRichardweretoseehimandfrightenhim,"suggestedDanahan.

"Richardistoofineaninstrument.Youcan'thandlethatsortofmanwithgloveson."

"Well,letmeseehim."

"Forgiveme,Danny,butIdon'tthinkyou'resubtleenough.Somethingbetweenglovesandbarefistsisneeded.Letussaymittens!Thatmeansawoman!Yes,Irather fancy awomanmight do the trick.Awomanwith a certain amount offinesse, but who knows the baser side of life from bitter experience. OlgaStormer,forinstance!Don'ttalktome,I'vegotaplancoming."

Sheleanedforward,buryingherfaceinherhands.Shelifteditsuddenly.

"What'sthenameofthatgirlwhowantstounderstudyme?MargaretRyan,isn'tit?Thegirlwiththehairlikemine?"

"Her hair's all right," admitted Danahan grudgingly, his eyes resting on thebronze-goldcoil surroundingOlga'shead. "It's just likeyours, asyousay.Butshe'snogoodanyotherway.Iwasgoingtosackhernextweek."

"If all goes well, you'll probably have to let her understudy 'Cora'." Shesmotheredhisprotestswithawaveofherhand."Danny,answermeonequestion

honestly.DoyouthinkIcanact?Reallyact,Imean.OramIjustanattractivewomanwhotrailsroundinprettydresses?"

"Act?MyGod!Olga,there'sbeennobodylikeyousinceDuse!"

"ThenifLevittisreallyacoward,asIsuspect,thethingwillcomeoff.No,I'mnotgoingtotellyouaboutit.IwantyoutogetholdoftheRyangirl.TellherI'minterested in her and want her to dine here tomorrow night. She'll come fastenough."

"Ishouldsayshewould!"

"TheotherthingIwantissomegoodstrongknockoutdrops,somethingthatwillputanyoneoutofactionforanhourortwo,butleavethemnonetheworsethenextday."

Danahangrinned.

"I can't guarantee our friend won't have a headache, but there will be nopermanentdamagedone."

"Good!Runawaynow,Danny,andleavetheresttome."Sheraisedhervoice:"MissJones!"

Thespectacledyoungwomanappearedwithherusualalacrity.

"Takedownthis,please."

Walkingslowlyupanddown,Olgadictated theday'scorrespondence.Butoneanswershewrotewithherownhand.

JakeLevitt,inhisdingyroom,grinnedashetoreopentheexpectedenvelope.

DearSir,

Icannotrecalltheladyofwhomyouspeak,butImeetsomanypeoplethatmymemoryisnecessarilyuncertain.Iamalwayspleasedtohelpanyfellowactress,andshallbeathomeifyouwillcallthiseveningatnineo'clock.

Yoursfaithfully,

OlgaStormer

Levitt nodded appreciatively.Clever note! She admitted nothing.Neverthelessshewaswillingtotreat.

Thegoldminewasdeveloping.

Atnineo'clockpreciselyLevitt stoodoutside thedoorof theactress's flat andpressed thebell.Noone answered the summons, andhewas about topress itagainwhenherealizedthatthedoorwasnotlatched.

He pushed the door open and entered the hall. To his rightwas an open doorleading into a brilliantly lighted room, a room decorated in scarlet and black.Levittwalkedin.Onthetableunderthelamplayasheetofpaperonwhichwerewrittenthewords:

"PleasewaituntilIreturn.-O.Stormer."

Levitt sat down and waited. In spite of himself a feeling of uneasiness wasstealingoverhim.Theflatwassoveryquiet.Therewassomethingeerieaboutthesilence.

Nothing wrong, of course, how could there be? But the roomwas so deadlyquiet;andyet,quietasitwas,hehadthepreposterous,uncomfortablenotionthathewasn'taloneinit.Absurd!Hewipedtheperspirationfromhisbrow.Andstilltheimpressiongrewstronger.Hewasn'talone!Withamutteredoathhesprangupandbegan topaceupanddown. In aminute thewomanwould return andthen-

Hestoppeddeadwithamuffledcry.Frombeneaththeblackvelvethangingsthatdrapedthewindowahandprotruded!Hestoopedandtouchedit.Cold-horriblycold-adeadhand.

Withacryheflungbackthecurtains.Awomanwaslyingthere,onearmflungwide,theotherdoubledunderherasshelayfacedownwards,hergolden-bronzehairlyingindishevelledmassesonherneck.

OlgaStormer!Tremblinglyhisfingerssoughttheicycoldnessofthatwristandfeltforthepulse.Ashethought,therewasnone.Shewasdead.Shehadescapedhim,then,bytakingthesimplestwayout.

Suddenlyhiseyeswerearrestedby twoendsof redcord finishing in fantastictassels,andhalfhiddenbythemassesofherhair.Hetouchedthemgingerly;theheadsaggedashedidso,andhecaughtaglimpseofahorriblepurpleface.Hesprangbackwithacry,hisheadwhirling.Therewassomethingherehedidnotunderstand.Hisbriefglimpseof the face,disfiguredas itwas,hadshownhimone thing.Thiswasmurder,not suicide.Thewomanhadbeenstrangledand -shewasnotOlgaStormer!

Ah!Whatwasthat?Asoundbehindhim.Hewheeledroundandlookedstraight

intotheterrifiedeyesofamaidservantcrouchingagainstthewall.Herfacewasaswhiteasthecapandapronshewore,buthedidnotunderstandthefascinatedhorror inhereyesuntilherhalf-breathedwordsenlightenedhimto theperil inwhichhestood.

"Oh,myGod!You'vekilled'er!"

Eventhenhedidnotquiterealize.Hereplied:

"No,no,shewasdeadwhenIfoundher."

"Isawyerdoit!Youpulledthecordandstrangledher.I 'eardthegurglingcryshegive."

Thesweatbrokeoutuponhisbrowinearnest.Hismindwentrapidlyoverhisactionsof thepreviousfewminutes.Shemusthavecomeinjustashehadthetwoendsofcordinhishands;shehadseenthesaggingheadandhadtakenhisowncryascoming from thevictim.Hestaredatherhelplessly.Therewasnodoubtingwhathesawinherface-terrorandstupidity.Shewouldtellthepoliceshehadseen thecrimecommitted,andnocross-examinationwouldshakeher,he was sure of that. She would swear away his life with the unshakableconvictionthatshewasspeakingthetruth.

What a horrible, unforeseen chain of circumstances! Stop, was it unforeseen?Wastheresomedevilryhere?Onanimpulsehesaid,eyeinghernarrowly:

"That'snotyourmistress,youknow."

Heranswer,givenmechanically,threwalightuponthesituation.

"No, it's 'eractress friend - ifyoucancall 'emfriends, seeing that they foughtlikecatanddog.Theywereatittonight,'ammerandtongs."

Atrap!Hesawitnow.

"Where'syourmistress?"

"Wentouttenminutesago."

Atrap!Andhehadwalkedintoitlikealamb.Acleverdevil,thisOlgaStormer;shehadridherselfofarival,andhewastosufferforthedeed.Murder!MyGod,theyhungamanformurder!Andhewasinnocent-innocent!

Astealthyrustlerecalledhim.Thelittlemaidwassidlingtowardsthedoor.Herwits were beginning to work again. Her eyes wavered to the telephone, then

backtothedoor.Atallcostshemustsilenceher.Itwastheonlyway.Aswellhangforarealcrimeasafictitiousone.Shehadnoweapon,neitherhadhe.Buthe had his hands!Then his heart gave a leap.On the table beside her, almostunderherhand,layasmall,jeweledrevolver.Ifhecouldreachitfirst-

Instinctorhiseyeswarnedher.Shecaughtitupashesprangandhelditpointedathisbreast.Awkwardly as sheheld it, her fingerwason the trigger, and shecouldhardlymisshimatthatdistance.Hestoppeddead.ArevolverbelongingtoawomanlikeOlgaStormerwouldbeprettysuretobeloaded.

Buttherewasonething,shewasnolongerdirectlybehindhimandthedoor.Solongashedidnotattackher,shemightnothavethenervetoshoot.Anyway,hemustriskit.Zigzagging,heranforthedoor,throughthehallandoutthroughtheouterdoor,bangingitbehindhim.Heheardhervoice,faintandshaky,calling,"Police,Murder!"She'dhavetocalllouderthanthatbeforeanyonewaslikelytohearher.He'dgota start, anyway.Down thestairshewent, runningdown theopenstreet, thenslacking toawalkasastraypedestrian turned thecorner.Hehadhisplancutanddried.

ToGravesendasquicklyaspossible.Aboatwassailingfromtherethatnightforthe remoter parts of the world. He knew the captain, a man who, for aconsideration,wouldasknoquestions.Onceonboardandouttoseahewouldbesafe.

Ateleveno'clockDanahan'stelephonerang.Olga'svoicespoke.

"Prepare a contract for Miss Ryan, will you? She's to understudy 'Cora'. It'sabsolutelynousearguing.Iowehersomethingafterall the thingsIdid tohertonight!What?Yes,IthinkI'moutofmytroubles.Bytheway,ifshetellsyoutomorrowthat I'manardentspiritualistandputher intoa trance tonight,don'tshow open incredulity. How? Knockout drops in the coffee, followed byscientificpasses!AfterthatIpaintedherfacewithpurplegreasepaintandputatourniquet on her left arm! Mystified? Well, you must stay mystified untiltomorrow. I haven't time to explain now. Imust get out of the cap and apronbeforemyfaithfulMaudreturnsfromthepictures.Therewasa'beautifuldrama'ontonight,shetoldme.Butshemissedthebestdramaofall.Iplayedmybestparttonight,Danny.Themittenswon!JakeLevittisacowardallright,andoh,Danny,Danny-I'manactress!"

THEEDGE

ClareHalliwellwalkeddowntheshortpaththatledfromhercottagedoortothegate.On her armwas a basket, and in the basketwas a bottle of soup, somehome-made jelly, and a few grapes. Therewere notmany poor people in thesmallvillageofDaymer'sEnd,butsuchastherewerewereassiduouslylookedafter,andClarewasoneofthemostefficientoftheparishworkers.

ClareHalliwellwasthirty-two.Shehadanuprightcarriage,ahealthycolor,andnicebrowneyes.Shewasnotbeautiful,butshe lookedfreshandpleasantandvery English. Everybody liked her and said she was a good sort. Since hermother'sdeath, twoyearsago,shehadlivedaloneinthecottagewithherdog,Rover.Shekeptpoultryandwasfondofanimalsandofahealthyoutdoorlife.

Assheunlatchedthegate,atwo-seatercarsweptpast,andthedriver,agirlinaredhat,wavedagreeting.Clareresponded,butforamomentherlipstightened.She felt that pang at her heartwhich always camewhen she sawVivienLee,Gerald'swife!

MedenhamGrange,whichlayjustamileoutsidethevillage,hadbelongedtotheLeesformanygenerations.SirGeraldLee,thepresentowneroftheGrange,wasamanoldforhisyearsandconsideredbymanystiffinmanner.Hispomposityreally covered a good deal of shyness. He and Clare had played together aschildren. Later they had been friends, and a closer and dearer tie had beenconfidentlyexpectedbymany- including, itmaybesaid,Clareherself.Therewasnohurry,ofcourse-butsomeday-Sheleftitsoinherownmind.Someday.

And then, just a year ago, the village had been startled by the news of SirGerald'smarriagetoaMissHarper-agirlnobodyhadeverheardof!

ThenewLadyLeehadnotbeenpopularinthevillage.Shetooknotthefaintestinterestinparochialmatters,wasboredbyhunting,andloathedthecountryandoutdoor sports.Manyof thewiseacres shook theirheadsandwonderedhow itwouldend.ItwaseasytoseewhereSirGerald'sinfatuationhadcomein.Vivienwasabeauty.FromheadtofootshewasacompletecontrasttoClareHalliwell-small,elfin,dainty,withgolden-redhairthatcurledenchantinglyoverherprettyears,andbigvioleteyesthatcouldshootasidewaysglanceofprovocationtothemannerborn.

GeraldLee, inhissimpleman'sway,hadbeenanxiousthathiswifeandClareshouldbegreatfriends.ClarewasoftenaskedtodineattheGrange,andVivienmadeaprettypretenceofaffectionateintimacywhenevertheymet.Hencethatgaysalutationofhersthismorning.

Clarewalkedonanddidhererrand.Thevicarwasalsovisitingtheoldwomanin question, and he and Clare walked a few yards together afterwards beforetheirwaysparted.Theystoodstillforaminutediscussingparishaffairs.

"Joneshasbrokenoutagain,I'mafraid,"saidthevicar."AndIhadsuchhopesafterhehadvolunteered,ofhisownaccord,totakethepledge."

"Disgusting,"saidClarecrisply.

"Itseemssotous,"saidMr.Wilmot,"butwemustrememberthatitisveryhardtoputourselves inhisplaceandrealizehis temptation.Thedesire fordrink isunaccountable to us, but we all have our own temptations, and thus we canunderstand."

"Isupposewehave,"saidClareuncertainly.

Thevicarglancedather.

"Someofushavethegoodfortunetobeverylittletempted,"hesaidgently."Buteventothosepeopletheirhourcomes.Watchandpray,remember,thatyeenternotintotemptation."

Thenbiddinghergoodbye,hewalkedbrisklyaway.Clarewentonthoughtfully,andpresentlyshealmostbumpedintoSirGeraldLee.

"Hullo,Clare.Iwashopingtorunacrossyou.Youlookjollyfit.Whatacoloryou'vegot."

Thecolorhadnotbeenthereaminutebefore.Leewenton:

"AsIsay,Iwashopingtorunacrossyou.Vivien'sgottogoofftoBournemouthfortheweekend.Hermother'snotwell.CanyoudinewithusTuesdayinsteadoftonight?"

"Oh,yes!Tuesdaywillsuitmejustaswell."

"That'sallright,then.Splendid.Imusthurryalong."

Clare went home to find her one faithful domestic standing on the doorsteplookingoutforher.

"Thereyouare,miss.Suchato-do.They'vebroughtRoverhome.Hewentoffonhisownthismorning,andacarrancleanoverhim."

Clarehurriedtothedog'sside.Sheadoredanimals,andRoverwasherespecial

darling.Shefelthislegsonebyone,andthenranherhandsoverhisbody.Hegroanedonceortwiceandlickedherhand.

"Ifthere'sanyseriousinjury,it'sinternal,"shesaidatlast."Nobonesseemtobebroken."

"Shallwegetthevettoseehim,Miss?"

Clareshookherhead.Shehadlittlefaithinthelocalvet.

"We'llwaituntiltomorrow.Hedoesn'tseemtobeingreatpain,andhisgumsareagoodcolor,sotherecan'tbemuchinternalbleeding.Tomorrow,ifIdon'tlikethelookofhim,I'lltakehimovertoSkippingtoninthecarandletReeveshavealookathim.He'sfarandawaythebestman."

On the following day, Rover seemed weaker, and Clare duly carried out herproject.ThesmalltownofSkippingtonwasaboutfortymilesaway,alongrun,butReeves,thevetthere,wascelebratedformanymilesaround.

Hediagnosedcertaininternalinjuriesbutheldoutgoodhopesofrecovery,andClarewentawayquitecontenttoleaveRoverinhischarge.

TherewasonlyonehotelofanypretensionsinSkippington,theCountyArms.Itwasmainlyfrequentedbycommercialtravelers,fortherewasnogoodhuntingcountry near Skippington, and it was off the track of the main roads formotorists.

Lunchwas not served till one o'clock, and as itwanted a fewminutes of thathour, Clare amused herself by glancing over the entries in the open visitors'book.

Suddenlyshegaveastifledexclamation.Surelysheknewthathandwriting,withitsloopsandwhirlsandflourishes?Shehadalwaysconsidereditunmistakable.Evennowshecouldhavesworn-butofcourseitwasclearlyimpossible.VivienLeewasatBournemouth.Theentryitselfshowedittobeimpossible:

Mr.andMrs.CyrilBrown,London.

Butinspiteofherselfhereyesstrayedbackagainandagaintothatcurlywriting,andonanimpulseshecouldnotquitedefinesheaskedabruptlyofthewomanintheoffice:

"Mrs.CyrilBrown?IwonderifthatisthesameoneIknow?"

"A small lady? Reddish hair? Very pretty. She came in a red two-seater car,

madam.APeugeot,Ibelieve."

Thenitwas!Acoincidencewouldbetooremarkable.Asifinadream,sheheardthewomangoon:

"Theywereherejustoveramonthagoforaweekend,andlikeditsomuchthattheyhavecomeagain.Newlymarried,Ishouldfancy."

Clareheardherselfsaying:"Thankyou.Idon'tthinkthatcouldbemyfriend."

Hervoice soundeddifferent, as though it belonged to someone else.Presentlyshewas sitting in the dining room, quietly eating cold roast beef, hermind amazeofconflictingthoughtandemotions.

Shehadnodoubtswhatever.ShehadsummedVivienupprettycorrectlyontheirfirstmeeting.Vivienwas that kind. Shewondered vaguelywho themanwas.SomeoneVivienhadknownbeforehermarriage?Verylikely-itdidn'tmatter-nothingmatteredbutGerald.

Whatwasshe-Clare-todoaboutGerald?Heoughttoknow-surelyheoughttoknow.Itwasclearlyherdutytotellhim.ShehaddiscoveredVivien'ssecretbyaccident,butshemustlosenotimeinacquaintingGeraldwiththefacts.ShewasGerald'sfriend,notVivien's.

Butsomehoworothershefeltuncomfortable.Herconsciencewasnotsatisfied.On the face of it, her reasoning was good, but duty and inclination jumpedsuspiciouslytogether.SheadmittedtoherselfthatshedislikedVivien.Besides,ifGeraldLeeweretodivorcehiswife-andClarehadnodoubtsatallthatthatwasexactlywhathewoulddo,hewasamanwithanalmostfanaticalviewofhisownhonor-then-well,thewaywouldlieopenforGeraldtocometoher.Put like that, she shrank back fastidiously. Her own proposed action seemednakedandugly.

The personal element entered in toomuch. She could not be sure of her ownmotives.Clarewasessentiallyahigh-minded,conscientiouswoman.Shestrovenowvery earnestly to seewhere her duty lay. Shewished, as she had alwayswished,todoright.Whatwasrightinthiscase?Whatwaswrong?

Byapureaccidentshehadcomeintopossessionoffactsthataffectedvitallythemanshelovedandthewomanwhomshedislikedand-yes,onemightaswellbefrank-ofwhomshewasbitterlyjealous.Shecouldruinthatwoman.Wasshejustifiedindoingso?

Clarehadalwaysheldherselfalooffromtheback-bitingandscandalwhichisaninevitablepartofvillage life.Shehated to feel thatshenowresembledoneofthosehumanghoulsshehadalwaysprofessedtodespise.

Suddenlythevicar'swordsthatmorningflashedacrosshermind:

"Eventothosepeopletheirhourcomes."

Wasthisherhour?Wasthishertemptation?Haditcomeinsidiouslydisguisedasaduty?ShewasClareHalliwell,aChristian,inloveandcharitywithallmen-and women. If she were to tell Gerald, she must be quite sure that onlyimpersonalmotivesguidedher.Forthepresentshewouldsaynothing.

She paid her bill for luncheon and drove away, feeling an indescribablelighteningofspirit. Indeed,shefelthappier thanshehaddonefora longtime.She felt glad that she had had the strength to resist temptation, to do nothingmeanorunworthy.Justforaseconditflashedacrosshermindthatitmightbeasenseofpower that had so lightenedher spirits, but shedismissed the idea asfantastic.

ByTuesdaynightshewasstrengthenedinherresolve.Therevelationcouldnotcomethroughher.Shemustkeepsilence.HerownsecretloveforGeraldmadespeechimpossible.Ratherahigh-mindedviewtotake?Perhaps;but itwastheonlyonepossibleforher.

ShearrivedattheGrangeinherownlittlecar.SirGerald'schauffeurwasatthefrontdoortodriveitroundtothegarageaftershehadalighted,asthenightwasawetone.HehadjustdrivenoffwhenClarerememberedsomebookswhichshehadborrowedandhadbroughtwithhertoreturn.Shecalledout,butthemandidnothearher.Thebutlerranoutafterthecar.

So, for aminute or two,Clarewas alone in the hall, close to the door of thedrawing room, which the butler had just unlatched prior to announcing her.Thoseinsidetheroom,however,knewnothingofherarrival,andsoitwasthatVivien'svoice,high-pitched-notquitethevoiceofalady-rangoutclearlyanddistinctly.

"Oh,we'reonlywaiting forClareHalliwell.Youmustknowher - lives in thevillage-supposedtobeoneofthelocalbelles,butfrightfullyunattractivereally.ShetriedherbesttocatchGerald,buthewasn'thavingany."

"Oh,yes,darling-"thisinanswertoamurmuredprotestfromherhusband."Shedid - youmayn't be aware of the fact - but she did her veryutmost. Poor old

Clare!Agoodsort,butsuchadump!"

Clare's face went dead white, her hands, hanging against her sides, clenchedthemselves in anger suchas shehadneverknownbefore.At thatmoment shecouldhavemurderedVivienLee.Itwasonlybyasupremephysicaleffortthatsheregainedcontrolofherself.That,andthehalf-formedthoughtthatshehelditinherpowertopunishVivienforthosecruelwords.

Thebutlerhadreturnedwiththebooks.Heopenedthedoor,announcedher,andinanothermoment shewasgreetinga roomfulofpeople inherusualpleasantmanner.

Vivien,exquisitelydressed in somedarkwinecolor that showedoffherwhitefragility,wasparticularlyaffectionateandgushing.Theydidn'tseehalfenoughofClare.She,Vivien,wasgoingtolearngolf,andClaremustcomeoutwithheronthelinks.

Geraldwas very attentive and kind.Thoughhe had no suspicion that she hadoverheardhiswife'swords,hehadsomevagueideaofmakingupforthem.HewasveryfondofClare,andhewishedVivienwouldn'tsay the thingsshedid.He and Clare had been friends, nothing more - and if there was an uneasysuspicion at the back of his mind that he was shirking the truth in that laststatement,heputitawayfromhim.

After dinner the talk fell on dogs, and Clare recounted Rover's accident. Shepurposelywaitedforalullintheconversationtosay:

"-so,onSaturday,ItookhimtoSkippington."

SheheardthesuddenrattleofVivienLee'scoffeecuponthesaucer,butshedidnotlookather-yet.

"Toseethatman,Reeves?"

"Yes. He'll be all right, I think. I had lunch at the County Arms afterwards.Rather a decent little pub." She turned now toVivien. "Have you ever stayedthere?"

Ifshehadhadanydoubts,theyweresweptaside.

Vivien'sanswercamequick-instammeringhaste.

"I?Oh!N-no,no."

Fear was in her eyes. They were wide and dark with it as they met Clare's.

Clare's eyes told nothing. They were calm, scrutinizing. No one could havedreamed of the keen pleasure that they veiled. At that moment Clare almostforgaveVivienforthewordsshehadoverheardearlierintheevening.Shetastedin thatmoment a fullness of power that almostmade her head reel. She heldVivienLeeinthehollowofherhand.

The following day, she received a note from the other woman. Would Clarecomeupandhaveteawithherquietlythatafternoon?Clarerefused.

Then Vivien called on her. Twice she came at hours when Clare was almostcertaintobeathome.Onthefirstoccasion,Clarereallywasout;onthesecond,sheslippedoutbythebackwaywhenshesawViviencomingupthepath.

"She'snotsureyetwhetherIknowornot,"shesaidtoherself."Shewantstofindoutwithoutcommittingherself.Butsheshan't-notuntilI'mready."

Clare hardly knewherselfwhat shewaswaiting for. She had decided to keepsilence-thatwastheonlystraightandhonorablecourse.Shefeltanadditionalglowofvirtuewhensherememberedtheextremeprovocationshehadreceived.After overhearing the way Vivien talked of her behind her back, a weakercharacter,shefelt,mighthaveabandonedhergoodresolutions.

ShewenttwicetochurchonSunday.Firsttoearlycommunion,fromwhichshecameoutstrengthenedanduplifted.Nopersonalfeelingsshouldweighwithher- nothing mean or petty. She went again to morning service. Mr. WilmotpreachedonthefamousprayerofthePharisee.Hesketchedthelifeofthatman,agoodman,pillarof thechurch.Andhepictured the slow,creepingblightofspiritualpridethatdistortedandsoiledallthathewas.

Claredidnotlistenveryattentively.VivienwasinthebigsquarepewoftheLeefamily, and Clare knew by instinct that the other intended to get hold of herafterwards.

Soitfellout.VivienattachedherselftoClare,walkedhomewithher,andaskedifshemightcomein.Clare,ofcourse,assented.TheysatinClare'slittlesittingroom,brightwithflowersandold-fashionedchintzes.Vivien'stalkwasdesultoryandjerky.

"IwasatBournemouth,youknow,lastweekend,"sheremarkedpresently.

"Geraldtoldmeso,"saidClare.

Theylookedateachother.Vivienappearedalmostplain today.Herfacehada

sharp,foxylookthatrobbeditofmuchofitscharm.

"WhenyouwereatSkippington-"beganVivien.

"WhenIwasatSkippington?"echoedClarepolitely.

"Youwerespeakingaboutsomelittlehotelthere."

"TheCountyArms.Yes.Youdidn'tknowit,yousaid?"

"I-Ihavebeenthereonce."

"Oh!"

Shehadonlytokeepstillandwait.Vivienwasquiteunfittedtobearastrainofanykind.Alreadyshewasbreakingdownunderit.Suddenlysheleanedforwardandspokevehemently.

"Youdon't likeme.Youneverhave.You'vealwayshatedme.You'reenjoyingyourself now, playing with me like a cat with a mouse. You're cruel - cruel.That'swhyI'mafraidofyou,becausedeepdownyou'recruel."

"Really,Vivien!"saidClaresharply.

"Youknow,don'tyou?Yes,Icanseethatyouknow.Youknewthatnight-whenyouspokeaboutSkippington.You'vefoundoutsomehow.Well,Iwanttoknowwhatyouaregoingtodoaboutit.Whatareyougoingtodo?"

Claredidnotreplyforaminute,andViviensprangtoherfeet.

"What are you going to do? Imust know. You're not going to deny that youknowallaboutit?"

"Idonotproposetodenyanything,"saidClarecoldly.

"Yousawmetherethatday?"

"No.Isawyourhandwritinginthebook-Mr.andMrs.CyrilBrown."

Vivienflusheddarkly.

"Since then," continued Clare quietly, "I havemade inquiries. I find that youwerenotatBournemouththatweekend.Yourmotherneversentforyou.Exactlythesamethinghappenedaboutsixweekspreviously."

Viviensankdownagainonthesofa.Sheburstintofuriouscrying,thecryingofafrightenedchild.

"Whatareyougoingtodo?"shegasped."AreyougoingtotellGerald?"

"Idon'tknowyet,"saidClare.

Shefeltcalm,omnipotent.

Viviensatup,pushingtheredcurlsbackfromherforehead.

"Wouldyouliketohearallaboutit?"

"Itwouldbeaswell,Ithink."

Vivienpouredoutthewholestory.Therewasnoreticenceinher.Cyril'Brown',was Cyril Haviland, a young engineer to whom she had previously beenengaged.His health failed, and he lost his job,whereupon hemade no bonesaboutjiltingthepennilessVivienandmarryingarichwidowmanyyearsolderthanhimself.SoonafterwardsVivienmarriedGeraldLee.

ShehadmetCyrilagainbychance.Thatwasthefirstofmanymeetings.Cyril,backedbyhiswife'smoney,wasprosperinginhiscareer,andbecomingawellknownfigure.

It was a sordid story, a story of backstairs meeting, of ceaseless lying andintrigue.

"Ilovehimso,"Vivienrepeatedagainandagain,withasuddenmoan,andeachtimethewordsmadeClarefeelphysicallysick.

Atlastthestammeringrecitalcametoanend.

Vivienmutteredashamefaced:"Well?"

"What am I going to do?" askedClare. "I can't tell you. Imust have time tothink."

"Youwon'tgivemeawaytoGerald?"

"Itmaybemydutytodoso."

"No,no."Vivien'svoicerosetoahystericalshriek."He'lldivorceme.Hewon'tlistentoaword.He'llfindoutfromthathotel,andCyrilwillbedraggedintoit.Andthenhiswifewilldivorcehim.Everythingwillgo-hiscareer,hishealth-he'llbepennilessagain.He'dneverforgiveme-never."

"Ifyou'llexcusemysayingso,"saidClare,"Idon'tthinkmuchofthisCyrilofyours."

Vivienpaidnoattention.

"I tell you he'll hate me - hate me. I can't bear it. Don't tell Gerald. I'll doanythingyoulike,butdon'ttellGerald."

"I must have time to decide," said Clare gravely. "I can't promise anythingoffhand.Inthemeantime,youandCyrilmustn'tmeetagain."

"No,no,wewon't.Iswearit."

"WhenIknowwhat'stherightthingtodo,"saidClare,"I'llletyouknow."

She got up.Vivienwent out of the house in a furtive, slinkingway, glancingbackoverhershoulder.

Clare wrinkled her nose in disgust. A beastly affair. Would Vivien keep herpromisenottoseeCyril?Probablynot.Shewasweak-rottenallthrough.

ThatafternoonClarewentforalongwalk.Therewasapathwhichledalongthedowns.Ontheleftthegreenhillsslopedgentlydowntotheseafarbelow,whilethe path wound steadily upward. This walk was known locally as the Edge.Thoughsafeenoughifyoukepttothepath,itwasdangeroustowanderfromit.

Thoseinsidiousgentleslopesweredangerous.Clarehadlostadogthereonce.The animal had gone racing over the smooth grass, gaining momentum, hadbeenunabletostopandhadgoneovertheedgeoftheclifftobedashedtopiecesonthesharprocksbelow.

Theafternoonwasclearandbeautiful.Fromfarbelowtherecametherippleofthesea,asoothingmurmur.Claresatdownontheshortgreenturfandstaredoutoverthebluewater.Shemustfacethisthingclearly.Whatdidshemeantodo?

ShethoughtofVivienwithakindofdisgust.Howthegirlhadcrumpledup,howabjectlyshehadsurrendered!Clarefeltarisingcontempt.Shehadnopluck-nogrit.

Nevertheless, much as she disliked Vivien, Clare decided that she wouldcontinuetospareherforthepresent.Whenshegothomeshewroteanotetoher,sayingthatalthoughshecouldmakenodefinitepromiseforthefuture,shehaddecidedtokeepsilenceforthepresent.

LifewentonmuchthesameinDaymer'sEnd.ItwasnoticedlocallythatLadyLeewaslookingfarfromwell.Ontheotherhand,ClareHalliwellbloomed.Hereyeswerebrighter,shecarriedherheadhigher,andtherewasanewconfidence

andassuranceinhermanner.

She and Lady Lee often met, and it was noticed on these occasions that theyounger woman watched the older with a flattering attention to her slightestword.

SometimesMissHalliwellwouldmakeremarksthatseemedalittleambiguous-notentirelyrelevanttothematterathand.Shewouldsuddenlysaythatshehadchangedhermindaboutmanythingslately-thatitwascurioushowalittlethingmightalterentirelyone'spointofview.Onewasapt togiveway toomuch topity-andthatwasreallyquitewrong.

WhenshesaidthingsofthatkindsheusuallylookedatLadyLeeinapeculiarway,andthelatterwouldsuddenlygrowquitewhite,andlookalmostterrified.

But as the year drew on, these little subtleties became less apparent. Clarecontinued to make the same remarks, but Lady Lee seemed less affected bythem.Shebegantorecoverherlooksandspirits.Heroldgaymannerreturned.

Onemorning,whenshewas takingherdog forawalk,ClaremetGerald inalane.Thelatter'sspanielfraternizedwithRover,whilehismastertalkedtoClare.

"Heardournews?"hesaidbuoyantly."IexpectVivien'stoldyou."

"Whatsortofnews?Vivienhasn'tmentionedanythinginparticular."

"We'regoingabroad-forayear-perhapslonger.Vivien'sfedupwiththisplace.Sheneverhascaredforit,youknow."Hesighed;foramomentortwohelookeddowncast.GeraldLeewasveryproudofhishome."Anyway,I'vepromisedherachange.I'vetakenavillanearAlgiers.Awonderfulplace,byallaccounts."Helaughedalittleself-consciously."Quiteasecondhoneymoon,eh?"

ForaminuteortwoClarecouldnotspeak.Somethingseemedtoberisingupinher throat and suffocating her. She could see thewhitewalls of the villa, theorangetrees,smellthesoftperfumedbreathoftheSouth.Asecondhoneymoon!

Theywere going to escape.Vivienno longer believed in her threats. Shewasgoingaway,carefree,gay,happy.

Clare heard her own voice, a little hoarse in timbre, saying the appropriatethings.Howlovely!Sheenviedthem!

Mercifully at that moment Rover and the spaniel decided to disagree. In thescufflethatensued,furtherconversationwasoutofthequestion.

ThatafternoonClaresatdownandwroteanotetoVivien.SheaskedhertomeetherontheEdgethefollowingday,asshehadsomethingveryimportanttosaytoher.

Thenextmorningdawnedbrightandcloudless.Clarewalkedupthesteeppathof theEdgewitha lightenedheart.Whataperfectday!Shewasglad that shehad decided to say what had to be said out in the open, under the blue sky,insteadof inherstuffylittlesittingroom.ShewassorryforVivien,verysorryindeed,butthethinghadgottobedone.

Shesawayellowdot,likesomeyellowflowerhigherupbythesideofthepath.As she came nearer, it resolved itself into the figure of Vivien, dressed in ayellowknittedfrock,sittingontheshortturf,herhandsclaspedroundherknees.

"Goodmorning,"saidClare."Isn'titaperfectmorning?"

"Isit?"saidVivien."Ihaven'tnoticed.Whatwasityouwantedtosaytome?"

Claredroppeddownonthegrassbesideher.

"I'mquiteoutofbreath,"shesaidapologetically."It'sasteeppulluphere."

"Damn you!" cried Vivien shrilly. "Why can't you say it, you smooth-faceddevil,insteadoftorturingme?"

Clarelookedshocked,andVivienhastilyrecanted.

"I didn'tmean that. I'm sorry,Clare. I am indeed.Only -mynerves are all topieces,andyoursittinghereandtalkingabouttheweather-well, itgotmeallrattled."

"You'llhaveanervousbreakdownifyou'renotcareful,"saidClarecoldly.

Viviengaveashortlaugh.

"Goovertheedge?No-I'mnotthatkind.I'llneverbealoony.Nowtellme-what'sallthisabout?"

Clarewassilentforamoment,thenshespoke,lookingnotatVivienbutsteadilyoutoverthesea.

"IthoughtitonlyfairtowarnyouthatIcannolongerkeepsilenceabout-aboutwhathappenedlastyear."

"Youmean-you'llgotoGeraldwiththatstory?"

"Unlessyou'lltellhimyourself.Thatwouldbeinfinitelythebetterway."

Vivienlaughedsharply.

"YouknowwellenoughIhaven'tgottheplucktodothat."

Clare did not contradict the assertion. She had had proof before of Vivien'sutterlycraventemper.

"Itwouldbeinfinitelybetter,"sherepeated.

AgainViviengavethatshort,uglylaugh.

"It's your precious conscience, I suppose, that drives you to do this?" shesneered.

"Idaresayitseemsverystrangetoyou,"saidClarequietly."Butithonestlyisthat."

Vivien'swhite,setfacestaredintohers.

"MyGod!"shesaid."Ireallybelieveyoumeanit,too.Youactuallythinkthat'sthereason."

"Itisthereason."

"No, it isn't. If so,you'dhavedone itbefore - longago.Whydidn'tyou?No,don'tanswer.I'lltellyou.Yougotmorepleasureoutofholdingitoverme-that'swhy. You liked to keepme on tenterhooks, andmakeme wince and squirm.You'dsaythings-diabolicalthings-justtotormentmeandkeepmeperpetuallyonthejump.Andsotheydidforabit-tillIgotusedtothem."

"Yougottofeelsecure,"saidClare.

"Yousawthat,didn'tyou?Buteventhen,youheldback,enjoyingyoursenseofpower.Butnowwe'regoingaway,escapingfromyou,perhapsevengoingtobehappy - you couldn't stick that at any price. So your convenient consciencewakesup!"

Shestopped,panting.Claresaid,stillveryquietly:

"I can't prevent your saying all these fantastical things, but I can assure youthey'renottrue."

Vivienturnedsuddenlyandcaughtherbythehand.

"Clare-forGod'ssake!I'vebeenstraight-I'vedonewhatyousaid.I'venotseen

Cyrilagain-Iswearit."

"That'snothingtodowithit."

"Clare-haven'tyouanypity-anykindness?I'llgodownonmykneestoyou."

"TellGeraldyourself.Ifyoutellhim,hemayforgiveyou."

Vivienlaughedscornfully.

"You knowGerald better than that.He'll be rabid - vindictive.He'llmakemesuffer-he'llmakeCyrilsuffer.That'swhatIcan'tbear.Listen,Clare-he'sdoingsowell.He'sinventedsomething-machinery,Idon'tunderstandaboutit,butitmay be awonderful success.He'sworking it out now - hiswife supplies themoneyforit,ofcourse.Butshe'ssuspicious-jealous.Ifshefindsout,andshewill findout ifGerald starts proceedings for divorce - she'll chuckCyril - hiswork,everything.Cyrilwillberuined."

"I'mnotthinkingofCyril,"saidClare."I'mthinkingofGerald.Whydon'tyouthinkalittleofhim,too?"

"Gerald?Idon'tcarethat-"shesnappedherfingers-"forGerald.Ineverhave.Wemightaswellhave the truthnowwe'reat it.But IdocareforCyril. I'marotter,throughandthrough,Iadmitit.Idaresayhe'sarotter,too.Butmyfeelingforhim-thatisn'trotten.I'ddieforhim,doyouhear?I'ddieforhim!"

"Thatiseasilysaid,"saidClarederisively.

"YouthinkI'mnotinearnest?Listen,ifyougoonwiththisbeastlybusiness,I'llkillmyself.SoonerthanhaveCyrilbroughtintoitandruined,I'ddothat."

Clareremainedunimpressed.

"Youdon'tbelieveme?"saidVivien,panting.

"Suicideneedsalotofcourage."

Vivienflinchedbackasthoughshehadbeenstruck.

"You'vegotmethere.Yes,I'venopluck.Iftherewereaneasyway-"

"There'saneasywayinfrontofyou,"saidClare."You'veonlygottorunstraightdown thegreen slope. Itwouldbeallover ina coupleofminutes.Rememberthatchildlastyear."

"Yes,"saidVivienthoughtfully."Thatwouldbeeasy-quiteeasy-ifonereally

wantedto-"

Clarelaughed.

Vivienturnedtoher.

"Let'shavethisoutoncemore.Can'tyouseethatbykeepingsilenceaslongasyouhave,you've-you'venorighttogobackonitnow?I'llnotseeCyrilagain.I'llbeagoodwifetoGerald-IswearIwill.OrI'llgoawayandneverseehimagain.Whicheveryoulike.Clare-"

Claregotup.

"Iadviseyou,"shesaid,"totellyourhusbandyourself...Otherwise-Ishall."

"Isee,"saidViviensoftly."Well-Ican'tletCyrilsuffer-"

She got up - stood still as though considering for a minute or two, then ranlightlydowntothepath,butinsteadofstopping,crosseditandwentdowntheslope.

OnceshehalfturnedherheadandwavedahandgailytoClare,thensheranongaily,lightly,asachildmightrun,outofsight...

Clarestoodpetrified.Suddenlysheheardcries,shouts,aclamorofvoices.Then-silence.

Shepickedherwaystifflydowntothepath.Aboutahundredyardsawayapartyofpeoplecomingupithadstopped.Theywerestaringandpointing.Clarerandownandjoinedthem.

"Yes,Miss,someone'sfallenoverthecliff.Twomenhavegonedown-tosee."

Shewaited.Wasitanhour,oreternity,oronlyafewminutes?

Amancametoilinguptheascent.Itwasthevicar inhisshirtsleeves.Hiscoathadbeentakenofftocoverwhatlaybelow.

"Horrible," he said, his face very white. "Mercifully, death must have beeninstantaneous."

HesawClare,andcameovertoher.

"Thismusthavebeenaterribleshocktoyou.Youweretakingawalktogether,Iunderstand?"

Clareheardherselfansweringmechanically.

Yes.Theyhadjustparted.No,LadyLee'smannerhadbeenquitenormal.Oneofthegroupinterposedtheinformationthattheladywaslaughingandwavingherhand.Aterriblydangerousplace-thereoughttobearailingalongthepath.

Thevicar'svoiceroseagain.

"Anaccident-yes,clearlyanaccident."

AndthensuddenlyClarelaughed-ahoarse,raucouslaughthatechoedalongthecliff.

"That'sadamnedlie,"shesaid."Ikilledher."

Shefeltsomeonepattinghershoulder,avoicespokesoothingly.

"There,there.It'sallright.You'llbeallrightpresently."

ButClarewasnotallrightpresently.Shewasneverallrightagain.Shepersistedinthedelusion-certainlyadelusion,sinceatleasteightpersonshadwitnessedthescene-thatshehadkilledVivienLee.

She was very miserable till Nurse Lauriston came to take charge. NurseLauristonwasverysuccessfulwithmentalcases.

"Humorthem,poorthings,"shewouldsaycomfortably.

So she told Clare that she was a wardress from Pentonville Prison. Clare'ssentence,shesaid,hadbeencommutedtopenalservitudeforlife.Aroomwasfittedupasacell.

"And now, I think, we shall be quite happy and comfortable," said NurseLauriston to the doctor. "Round-bladed knives if you like, doctor, but I don'tthinkthere'stheleastfearofsuicide.She'snotthetype.Tooself-centered.Funnyhowthoseareoftentheoneswhogoovertheedgemosteasily."

CHRISTMASADVENTURE

I

The big logs crackled merrily in the wide, open fireplace, and above theircrackling rose thebabelofsix tonguesallwagging industriously together.Thehouse-partyofyoungpeoplewereenjoyingtheirChristmas.

Old Miss Endicott, known to most of those present as Aunt Emily, smiled

indulgentlyontheclatter.

'Betyouyoucan'teatsixmince-pies,Jean.'

'Yes,Ican.'

'No,youcan't.'

'You'llgetthepigoutofthetrifleifyoudo.'

'Yes,andthreehelpsoftrifle,andtwohelpsofplum-pudding.'

'Ihopethepuddingwillbegood,'saidMissEndicottapprehensively. 'Buttheywere onlymade three days ago.Christmas puddings ought to bemade a longtimebeforeChristmas.Why,IrememberwhenIwasachild,IthoughtthelastCollectbeforeAdvent-"Stirup,OLord,webeseechThee..."-referredinsomewaytostirringuptheChristmaspuddings!'

TherewasapolitepausewhileMissEndicottwasspeaking.Notbecauseanyofthe young people were in the least interested in her reminiscences of bygonedays, but because they felt that some show of attention was due by goodmannerstotheirhostess.Assoonasshestopped,thebabelburstoutagain.MissEndicottsighed,andglancedtowardstheonlymemberofthepartywhoseyearsapproached her own, as though in search of sympathy - a little man with acuriousegg-shapedheadandfierceupstandingmoustaches.Youngpeoplewerenot what they were, reflectedMiss Endicott. In olden days there would havebeenamute,respectfulcircle,listeningtothepearlsofwisdomdroppedbytheirelders.Insteadofwhichtherewasallthisnonsensicalchatter,mostofitutterlyincomprehensible.All thesame, theyweredearchildren!Hereyessoftenedasshe passed them in review - tall, freckled Jean; littleNancyCardell,with herdark,gipsybeauty;thetwoyoungerboyshomefromschool,JohnnieandEric,andtheirfriend,CharliePease;andfair,beautifulEvelynHaworth...Atthoughtof the last, her brow contracted a little, and her eyes wandered to where hereldestnephew,Roger,satmoroselysilent,takingnopartinthefun,withhiseyesfixedontheexquisiteNorthernfairnessoftheyounggirl.

'Isn'tthesnowripping?'criedJohnnie,approachingthewindow.'RealChristmasweather.Isay,let'shaveasnowballfight.There'slotsoftimebeforedinner,isn'tthere,AuntEmily?'

'Yes,mydear.Wehaveitattwoo'clock.Thatremindsme,Ihadbetterseetothetable.'

Shehurriedoutoftheroom.

'Itellyouwhat.We'llmakeasnowman!'screamedJean.

'Yes,what fun! I know;we'll do a snowstatueofM.Poirot.Doyouhear,M.Poirot?Thegreatdetective,HerculePoirot,modelledinsnow,bysixcelebratedartists!'

Thelittlemaninthechairbowedhisacknowledgementswithatwinklingeye.

'Makehimveryhandsome,mychildren,'heurged.'Iinsistonthat.'

'Ra-ther!'

Thetroopdisappearedlikeawhirlwind,collidinginthedoorwaywithastatelybutler who was entering with a note on a salver. The butler, his calm re-established,advancedtowardsPoirot.

Poirot tookthenoteandtore itopen.Thebutlerdeparted.Twicethe littlemanreadthenotethrough,thenhefoldeditupandputitinhispocket.Notamuscleof his face had moved, and yet the contents of the note were sufficientlysurprising.Scrawled inan illiteratehandwere thewords: 'Don'teatanyplum-pudding.'

'Veryinteresting,'murmuredM.Poirottohimself.'Andquiteunexpected.'

He looked across to the fireplace. EvelynHaworth had not gone outwith therest.Shewassittingstaringatthefire,absorbedinthought,nervouslytwistingaringonthethirdfingerofherlefthandroundandround.

'You are lost in a dream, Mademoiselle,' said the little man at last. 'And thedreamisnotahappyone,eh?'

Shestarted,andlookedacrossathimuncertainly.Henoddedreassuringly.

'Itismybusinesstoknowthings.No,youarenothappy.Me,too,Iamnotveryhappy.Shallweconfideineachother?Seeyou,Ihavethebigsorrowbecauseafriendofmine,afriendofmanyyears,hasgoneawayacrosstheseatotheSouthAmerica.Sometimes,whenweweretogether,thisfriendmademeimpatient,hisstupidity enragedme; but now that he is gone, I can remember only his goodqualities.Thatisthewayoflife,isitnot?Andnow,Mademoiselle,whatisyourtrouble?Youarenotlikeme,oldandalone-youareyoungandbeautiful;andthemanyoulovelovesyou-ohyes,itisso:Ihavebeenwatchinghimforthelasthalf-hour.'

Thegirl'scolourrose.

'YoumeanRogerEndicott?Oh,butyouhavemadeamistake;itisnotRogerIamengagedto.'

'No,youareengagedtoMrOscarLevering.Iknowthatperfectly.Butwhyareyouengagedtohim,sinceyouloveanotherman?'

Thegirl did not seem to resent hiswords; indeed, therewas something in hismannerwhichmadethatimpossible.Hespokewithamixtureofkindlinessandauthoritythatwasirresistible.

'Tellme all about it,' saidPoirot gently; and he added the phrase he had usedbefore,thesoundofwhichwasoddlycomfortingtothegirl.'Itismybusinesstoknowthings.'

'Iamsomiserable,M.Poirot-soverymiserable.Yousee,oncewewereverywelloff.Iwassupposedtobeanheiress,andRogerwasonlyayoungerson;and-andalthoughI'msurehecaredforme,heneversaidanything,butwentofftoAustralia.'

'Itisdroll,thewaytheyarrangethemarriagesoverhere,'interpolatedM.Poirot.'Noorder.Nomethod.Everythinglefttochance.'

Evelyncontinued.

'Then suddenly we lost all our money. My mother and I were left almostpenniless. We moved into a tiny house, and we could just manage. But mymotherbecameveryill.Theonlychanceforherwastohaveaseriousoperationand go abroad to a warm climate. Andwe hadn't themoney,M. Poirot - wehadn'tthemoney!Itmeantthatshemustdie.MrLeveringhadproposedtomeonce or twice already. He again askedme tomarry him, and promised to doeverythingthatcouldbedoneformymother.Isaidyes-whatelsecouldIdo?Hekepthisword.Theoperationwasperformedbythegreatestspecialistoftheday, andwewent toEgypt for thewinter.Thatwasayear ago.Mymother iswellandstrongagain;andI-IamtomarryMrLeveringafterChristmas.'

'Isee,'saidM.Poirot; 'andinthemeantime,M.Roger'selderbrotherhasdied,andhehascomehome-tofindhisdreamshattered.Allthesame,youarenotyetmarried,Mademoiselle.'

'AHaworthdoesnotbreakherword,M.Poirot,'saidthegirlproudly.

Almost as she spoke, the door opened, and a big man with a rubicund face,

narrow,craftyeyes,andabaldheadstoodonthethreshold.

'Whatareyoumopinginherefor,Evelyn?Comeoutforastroll.'

'Verywell,Oscar.'

Sheroselistlessly.Poirotrosealsoanddemandedpolitely:

'MademoiselleLevering,sheisstillindisposed?'

'Yes,I'msorrytosaymysisterisstillinbed.Toobad,tobelaiduponChristmasDay.'

'Itisindeed,'agreedthedetectivepolitely.

A fewminutes sufficed forEvelyn toputonher snow-boots and somewraps,andsheandherfiancéwentoutintothesnow-coveredgrounds.ItwasanidealChristmasDay,crispandsunny.Therestofthehouse-partywerebusywiththeerectionofthesnowman.LeveringandEvelynpausedtowatchthem.

'Love'syoungdream,yah!'criedJohnnie,andthrewasnowballatthem.

'What do you think of it, Evelyn?' cried Jean. 'M. Hercule Poirot, the greatdetective.'

'Waittillthemoustachegoeson,'saidEric.'Nancy'sgoingtoclipoffabitofherhairforit.ViventlesbravesBelges!Pom,pom!'

'Fancyhavingareallivedetectiveinthehouse!'-thisfromCharlie-'Iwishtherecouldbeamurder,too.'

'Oh,oh,oh!'criedJean,dancingabout.'I'vegotanidea.Let'sgetupamurder-aspoofone,Imean.Andtakehimin.Oh,dolet's-itwouldbenoendofarag.'

Fivevoicesbegantotalkatonce.

'Howshouldwedoit?'

'Awfulgroans!'

'No,youstupid,outhere.'

'Footprintsinthesnow,ofcourse.'

'Jeaninhernightie.'

'Youdoitwithredpaint.'

'Inyourhand-andclapittoyourhead.'

'Isay,Iwishwehadarevolver.'

'Itellyou,FatherandAuntEmwon'thear.Theirroomsaretheothersideofthehouse.'

'No,hewon'tmindabit;he'snoendofasport.'

'Yes,butwhatkindofredpaint?Enamel?'

'Wecouldgetsomeinthevillage.'

'Fat-head,notonChristmasDay.'

'No,watercolour.Crimsonlake.'

'Jeancanbeit.'

'Nevermindifyouarecold.Itwon'tbeforlong.'

'No,Nancycanbeit,Nancy'sgotthoseposhpyjamas.'

'Let'sseeifGravesknowswherethere'sanypaint.'

Astampedetothehouse.

'Inabrownstudy,Endicott?'saidLevering,laughingdisagreeably.

Rogerrousedhimselfabruptly.Hehadheardlittleofwhathadpassed.

'Iwasjustwondering,'hesaidquietly.

'Wondering?'

'WonderingwhatM.Poirotwasdoingdownhereatall.'

Leveringseemedtakenaback;butatthatmomentthebiggongpealedout,andeverybodywentintoChristmasdinner.Thecurtainsweredrawninthedining-room,andthelightson,illuminatingthelongtablepiledhighwithcrackersandotherdecorations. Itwas a real old-fashionedChristmasdinner.Atone endofthetablewastheSquire,red-facedandjovial;hissisterfacedhimattheother.M. Poirot, in honour of the occasion, had donned a red waistcoat, and hisplumpness, and the way he carried his head on one side, reminded oneirresistiblyofarobinredbreast.

TheSquirecarvedrapidly,andeveryonefelltoonturkey.Thecarcassesoftwoturkeyswereremoved,andtherefellabreathlesshush.ThenGraves,thebutler,

appearedinstate,bearingtheplum-puddingaloft-agiganticpuddingwreathedinflames.Ahullabaloobrokeout.

'Quick.Oh!mypiece isgoingout.Buckup,Graves;unless it'sstillburning, Ishan'tgetmywish.'

NobodyhadleisuretonoticeacuriousexpressiononthefaceofM.Poirotashesurveyed the portion of pudding on his plate. Nobody observed the lightningglancehesentroundthe table.Withafaint,puzzledfrownhebegantoeathispudding.Everybodybegantoeatpudding.Theconversationwasmoresubdued.Suddenly the Squire uttered an exclamation. His face became purple and hishandwenttohismouth.

'Confound it, Emily!' he roared. 'Why do you let the cook put glass in thepuddings?'

'Glass?'criedMissEndicott,astonished.

TheSquirewithdrewtheoffendingsubstancefromhismouth.

'Mighthavebrokenatooth,'hegrumbled.'Orswalloweditandhadappendicitis.'

Infrontofeachpersonwasasmallfinger-bowlofwater,designedtoreceivethesixpencesandothermattersfoundinthetrifle.MrEndicottdroppedthepieceofglassintothis,rinseditandhelditup.

'God blessmy soul!' he ejaculated. 'It's a red stone out of one of the crackerbrooches.'

'You permit?' Very deftly,M. Poirot took it from his fingers and examined itattentively.AstheSquirehadsaid,itwasabigredstone,thecolourofaruby.Thelightgleamedfromitsfacetsasheturneditabout.

'Gee!'criedEric.'Supposeit'sreal.'

'Sillyboy!'saidJeanscornfully.'Arubythatsizewouldbeworththousandsandthousandsandthousands-wouldn'tit,M.Poirot?'

'Extraordinary how well they get up these cracker things,' murmured MissEndicott.'Buthowdiditgetintothepudding?''

Undoubtedlythatwasthequestionofthehour.Everyhypothesiswasexhausted.OnlyM. Poirot said nothing, but carelessly, as though thinking of somethingelse,hedroppedthestoneintohispocket.

Afterdinnerhepaidavisittothekitchen.

Thecookwasratherflustered.Tobequestionedbyamemberofthehouse-party,andtheforeigngentlemantoo!Butshedidherbesttoanswerhisquestions.Thepuddingshadbeenmade threedaysago- 'Thedayyouarrived,Sir.'Everyonehadcomeoutintothekitchentohaveastirandwish.Anoldcustom-perhapstheydidn't have it abroad?After that thepuddingswereboiled, and then theywereput ina rowon the topshelf in the larder.Was thereanythingspecial todistinguishthispuddingfromtheothers?No,shedidn'tthinkso.Exceptthatitwas inanaluminiumpudding-basin,and theotherswere inchinaones.Was itthepuddingoriginallyintendedforChristmasDay?Itwasfunnythatheshouldask that.No, indeed!TheChristmaspuddingwasalwaysboiled inabigwhitechinamouldwithapatternofholly-leaves.Butthisverymorning(thecook'sredface becamewrathful)Gladys, the kitchen-maid, sent to fetch it down for thefinalboiling,hadmanagedtodropandbreakit.'Andofcourse,seeingthattheremightbesplinters in it, Iwouldn'tsend it to table,but took thebigaluminiumoneinstead.'

M.Poirotthankedherforherinformation.Hewentoutofthekitchen,smilingalittle tohimself,as thoughsatisfiedwith the informationhehadobtained.Andthefingersofhisrighthandplayedwithsomethinginhispocket.

II

'M.Poirot!M.Poirot!Dowakeup!Somethingdreadful'shappened!'

Thus Johnnie in theearlyhoursof the followingmorning.M.Poirot satup inbed.Heworeanightcap.Thecontrastbetween thedignityofhis countenanceand the rakish tiltof thenightcapwascertainlydroll;but itseffectonJohnnieseemeddisproportionate.Butforhiswords,onemighthavefanciedthattheboywasviolentlyamusedaboutsomething.Curioussoundscamefromoutside thedoor,too,suggestingsoda-watersyphonsindifficulty.

'Come down at once, please,' continued Johnnie, his voice shaking slightly.'Someone'sbeenkilled.'Heturnedaway.

'Aha,thatisserious!'saidM.Poirot.

Hearose,and,withoutundulyhurryinghimself,madeapartial toilet.ThenhefollowedJohnniedownthestairs.Thehouse-partywasclusteredroundthedoorinto thegarden.Their countenances all expressed intense emotion.At sight of

himEricwasseizedwithaviolentchokingfit.

JeancameforwardandlaidherhandonM.Poirot'sarm.

'Look!'shesaid,andpointeddramaticallythroughtheopendoor.

'MonDieu!'ejaculatedM.Poirot.'Itislikeasceneonthestage.'

Hisremarkwasnotinapposite.Moresnowhadfallenduringthenight,theworldlookedwhite and ghostly in the faint light of the early dawn.The expanse ofwhitelayunbrokensaveforwhatlookedlikeonsplashofvividscarlet.

NancyCardelllaymotionlessonthesnow.Shewascladinscarletsilkpyjamas,hersmallfeetwerebare,herarmswerespreadwide.Herheadwasturnedasideand hidden by themass of her clustering black hair.Deadly still she lay, andfromherleftsideroseupthehiltofadagger,whilstonthesnowtherewasanever-wideningpatchofcrimson.

Poirotwentout into the snow.Hedidnot go towhere thegirl's body lay, butkepttothepath.Twotracksoffootmarks,aman'sandawoman's,ledtowherethe tragedy had occurred. The man's footprints went away in the oppositedirectionalone.Poirotstoodonthepath,strokinghischinreflectively.

SuddenlyOscarLeveringburstoutofthehouse.

'GoodGod!'hecried.'What'sthis?'

Hisexcitementwasacontrasttotheother'scalm.

'Itlooks,'saidM.Poirotthoughtfully,'likemurder.'

Erichadanotherviolentattackofcoughing.

'Butwemustdosomething,'criedtheother.'Whatshallwedo?'

'Thereisonlyonethingtobedone,'saidM.Poirot.'Sendforthepolice.'

'Oh!'saideverybodyatonce.

M.Poirotlookedinquiringlyatthem.

'Certainly,'hesaid.'Itistheonlythingtobedone.Whowillgo?'

Therewasapause,thenJohnniecameforward.

'Rag'sover,'hedeclared.'Isay,M.Poirot,Ihopeyouwon'tbetoomadwithus.It'sallajoke,youknow-gotupbetweenus-justtopullyourleg.Nancy'sonly

shamming.'

M.Poirot regardedhimwithoutvisible emotion, save that his eyes twinkled amoment.

'Youmockyourselvesatme,isthatit?'heinquiredplacidly.

'I say, I'mawfully sorry really.We shouldn't havedone it.Beastlybad taste. Iapologize,Ireallydo.'

'Youneednotapologize,'saidtheotherinapeculiarvoice.

Johnnieturned.

'Isay,Nancy,getup!'hecried.'Don'tliethereallday.'

Butthefigureonthegrounddidnotmove.

'Getup,'criedJohnnieagain.

StillNancydidnotmove,andsuddenlyafeelingofnamelessdreadcameovertheboy.HeturnedtoPoirot.

'What-what'sthematter?Whydoesn'tshegetup?'

'Comewithme,'saidPoirotcurtly.

Hestrodeoverthesnow.Hehadwavedtheothersback,andhewascarefulnotto infringe on the other footmarks. The boy followed him, frightened andunbelieving.Poirotkneltdownbythegirl,thenhesignedtoJohnnie.

'Feelherhandandpulse.'

Wondering,theboybentdown,thenstartedbackwithacry.Thehandandarmwerestiffandcold,andnovestigeofapulsewastobefound.

'She'sdead!'hegasped.'Buthow?Why?'

M.Poirotpassedoverthefirstpartofthequestion.

'Why?' he said musingly. 'I wonder.' Then, suddenly leaning across the deadgirl's body, he unclasped her other hand, which was tightly clenched oversomething.Bothheandtheboyutteredanexclamation.InthepalmofNancy'shandwasaredstonethatwinkedandflashedforthfire.

'Aha!' criedM.Poirot.Swift as a flashhis hand flew tohis pocket, and cameawayempty.

'The cracker ruby,' said Johnniewonderingly. Then, as his companion bent toexaminethedagger,andthestainedsnow,hecriedout:'Surelyitcan'tbeblood,M.Poirot.It'spaint.It'sonlypaint.'

Poirotstraightenedhimself.

'Yes,'hesaidquietly.'Youareright.It'sonlypaint.'

'Thenhow-'Theboybrokeoff.Poirotfinishedthesentenceforhim.

'Howwasshekilled?Thatwemustfindout.Didsheeatordrinkanythingthismorning?'

He was retracing his steps to the path where the others waited as he spoke.Johnniewasclosebehindhim.

'She had a cup of tea,' said the boy. 'MrLeveringmade it for her.He's got aspirit-lampinhisroom.'

Johnnie'svoicewasloudandclear.Leveringheardthewords.

'Alwaystakeaspirit-lampaboutwithme,'hedeclared.'Mosthandythingintheworld.My sister's been glad enough of it this visit - not liking to worry theservantsallthetimeyouknow.'

M.Poirot'seyesfell,almostapologeticallyas itseemed, toMrLevering'sfeet,whichwereencasedincarpetslippers.

'Youhavechangedyourboots,Isee,'hemurmuredgently.

Leveringstaredathim.

'But,M.Poirot,'criedJean,'whatarewetodo?'

'Thereisonlyonethingtobedone,asIsaidjustnow,Mademoiselle.Sendforthepolice.'

'I'll go,' cried Levering. 'It won't take me a minute to put on my boots. Youpeoplehadbetternotstayouthereinthecold.'

Hedisappearedintothehouse.

'He is so thoughtful, thatMrLevering,'murmuredPoirot softly. 'Shallwe takehisadvice?'

'Whataboutwakingfatherand-andeverybody?'

'No,' said M. Poirot sharply. 'It is quite unnecessary. Until the police come,nothingmustbetouchedouthere;soshallwegoinside?Tothelibrary?Ihavealittle history to recount to you which may distract your minds from this sadtragedy.'

Heledtheway,andtheyfollowedhim.

'Thestoryisaboutaruby,'saidM.Poirot,ensconcinghimselfinacomfortablearm-chair. 'Averycelebrated rubywhichbelonged toaverycelebratedman. Iwillnottellyouhisname-butheisoneofthegreatonesoftheearth.Ehbien,thisgreatman,hearrivedinLondon,incognito.Andsince,thoughagreatman,hewasalsoayoungandafoolishman,hebecameentangledwithaprettyyounglady.Theprettyyounglady,shedidnotcaremuchfortheman,butshedidcareforhispossessions-somuchsothatshedisappearedonedaywiththehistoricrubywhichhadbelongedtohishouseforgenerations.Thepooryoungman,hewasinaquandary.HeisshortlytobemarriedtoanoblePrincess,andhedoesnotwant thescandal. Impossible togo to thepolice,hecomes tome,HerculePoirot,instead."Recoverformemyruby,"hesays.Ehbien,Iknowsomethingofthisyounglady.Shehasabrother,andbetweenthemtheyhaveputthroughmanyaclevercoup.IhappentoknowwheretheyarestayingforChristmas.BythekindnessofMrEndicott,whomIchancetohavemet,I,too,becomeaguest.ButwhenthisprettyyoungladyhearsthatIamarriving,sheisgreatlyalarmed.She is intelligent, and she knows that I am after the ruby. She must hide itimmediatelyinasafeplace;andfiguretoyourselfwhereshehidesit-inaplum-pudding!Yes,youmaywellsay,oh!Sheisstirringwith therest,yousee,andshepops it intoapudding-bowlofaluminiumthat isdifferentfromtheothers.Byastrangechance,thatpuddingcametobeusedonChristmasDay.'

Thetragedyforgottenforthemoment,theystaredathimopen-mouthed.

'Afterthat,'continuedthelittleman,'shetooktoherbed.'Hedrewouthiswatchandlookedatit.'Thehouseholdisastir.MrLeveringisalongtimefetchingthepolice,ishenot?Ifancythathissisterwentwithhim.'

Evelynrosewithacry,hereyesfixedonPoirot.

'AndIalsofancythattheywillnotreturn.OscarLeveringhasbeensailingclosetothewindforalongtime,andthisistheend.Heandhissisterwillpursuetheiractivities abroad for a time under a different name. I alternately tempted andfrightened him this morning. By casting aside all pretence he could gainpossessionoftherubywhilstwewereinthehouseandhewassupposedtobefetchingthepolice.Butitmeantburninghisboats.Still,withacasebeingbuilt

upagainsthimformurder,flightseemedclearlyindicated.'

'DidhekillNancy?'whisperedJean.

Poirotrose.

'Supposingwevisitoncemorethesceneofthecrime,'hesuggested.

He led theway, and they followed him. But a simultaneous gasp broke fromtheirlipsastheypassedoutsidethehouse.Notraceofthetragedyremained;thesnowwassmoothandunbroken.

'Crikey!'saidEric,sinkingdownonthestep.'Itwasn'talladream,wasit?'

'Most extraordinary,' saidM. Poirot, 'TheMystery of theDisappearing Body.'Hiseyestwinkledgently.

Jeancameuptohiminsuddensuspicion.

'M.Poirot,youhaven't-youaren't-Isay,youhaven'tbeenspoofingusallthetime,haveyou?Oh,Idobelieveyouhave!'

'It is true,mychildren.Iknewaboutyour littleplot,yousee,andIarrangedalittle counterplot ofmy own.Ah, here isMlleNancy - and none theworse, Ihope,afterhermagnificentactingofthecomedy.'

ItwasindeedNancyCardellintheflesh,hereyesshiningandherwholepersonexuberantwithhealthandvigour.

'Youhavenotcaughtcold?YoudrankthetisaneIsenttoyourroom?'demandedPoirotaccusingly.

'Itookonesipandthatwasenough.I'mallright.DidIdoitwell,M.Poirot?Oh,myarmhurtsafterthattourniquet!'

'Youweresplendid,petite.Butshallweexplaintotheothers?Theyarestill inthefog,Iperceive.Seeyou,mesenfants,IwenttoMlleNancy,toldherthatIknewallaboutyourlittlecomplot,andaskedherifshewouldactapartforme.Shediditverycleverly.SheinducedMrLeveringtomakeheracupoftea,andalsomanagedthatheshouldbetheonechosentoleavefootprintsonthesnow.So when the time came, and he thought that by some fatality she was reallydead,Ihadallthematerialstofrightenhimwith.Whathappenedafterwewentintothehouse,Mademoiselle?'

'Hecamedownwithhissister,snatchedtherubyoutofmyhand,andoff they

wentpost-haste.'

'But I say,M. Poirot, what about the ruby?' cried Eric. 'Do youmean to sayyou'veletthemhavethat?'

Poirot'sfacefell,ashefacedacircleofaccusingeyes.

'Ishallrecoverityet,'hesaidfeebly;butheperceivedthathehadgonedownintheirestimation.

'Well,Idothink!'beganJohnnie.'Toletthemgetawaywiththeruby-'

ButJeanwassharper.

'He'sspoofingusagain!'shecried.'Youare,aren'tyou?'

'Feelinmyleft-handpocket,Mademoiselle.'

Jeanthrustinaneagerhand,anddrewitoutagainwithasquealoftriumph.Sheheldaloftthegreatrubyinitscrimsonsplendour.

'Yousee,'explainedPoirot,'theotherwasapastereplicaIbroughtwithmefromLondon.'

'Isn'theclever?'demandedJeanecstatically.

'There's one thing you haven't told us,' said Johnnie suddenly. 'How did youknowabouttherag?DidNancytellyou?'

Poirotshookhishead.

'Thenhowdidyouknow?'

'Itismybusinesstoknowthings,'saidM.Poirot,smilingalittleashewatchedEvelynHaworthandRogerEndicottwalkingdownthepathtogether.

'Yes,butdotellus.Oh,do,please!DearM.Poirot,pleasetellus!'

Hewassurroundedbyacircleofflushed,eagerfaces.

'YoureallywishthatIshouldsolveforyouthismystery?'

'Yes:

'IdonotthinkIcan.'

'Whynot?'

'Mafoi,youwillbesodisappointed.'

'Oh,dotellus!Howdidyouknow?'

'Well;yousee,Iwasinthelibrary-'

'Yes?'

'Andyouwerediscussingyourplansjustoutside-andthelibrarywindowwasopen.'

'Isthatall?'saidEricindisgust.'Howsimple!'

'Isitnot?'saidM.Poirot,smiling.

'Atallevents,weknoweverythingnow,'saidJeaninasatisfiedvoice.

'Dowe?'mutteredM.Poirottohimself,ashewentintothehouse.'Idonot-I,whosebusinessitistoknowthings.'

And,forperhapsthetwentiethtime,hedrewfromhispocketaratherdirtypieceofpaper.

'Don'teatanyplum-pudding-'

M.Poirotshookhisheadperplexedly.Atthesamemomenthebecameawareofa peculiar gasping sound very near his feet.He looked down and perceived asmallcreatureinaprintdress.Inherlefthandwasadust-pan,andintherightabrush.

'Andwhomayyoube,monenfant?'inquiredM.Poirot.

'Annie'Icks,please,Sir.Between-maid.'

M.Poirothadaninspiration.Hehandedhertheletter.

'Didyouwritethat,Annie?'

'Ididn'tmeanany'arm,Sir.'

Hesmiledather.

'Ofcourseyoudidn't.Supposeyoutellmeallaboutit?'

'Itwasthemtwo,Sir-MrLeveringandhissister.Noneofuscanabide'em;andshewasn't ill a bit -we could all tell that. So I thought something queerwasgoingon,andI'lltellyoustraight,Sir,Ilistenedatthedoor,andIheardhimsayas plain as plain, "This fellow Poirot must be got out of the way as soon aspossible."And thenhe says to 'er,meaning-like, "Wheredidyouput it?"And

she answers, "In the pudding."And so I saw theymeant to poisonyou in theChristmaspudding, and I didn't knowwhat to do.Cookwouldn't listen to thelikesofme.AndthenIthoughtofwritingawarning,andIputitinthe'allwhereMrGraveswouldbesuretoseeitandtakeittoyou.'

Anniepausedbreathless.Poirotsurveyedhergravelyforsomeminutes.

'You read toomanynovelettes,Annie,' he said at last. 'Butyouhave thegoodheart,andacertainamountofintelligence.WhenIreturntoLondonIwillsendyouanexcellentbookuponleménage,alsotheLivesoftheSaints,andaworkupontheeconomicpositionofwoman.'

LeavingAnniegaspinganew,heturnedandcrossedthehall.Hehadmeanttogointo the library,but through theopendoorhe sawadarkheadanda fair one,very close together, and he paused where he stood. Suddenly a pair of armsslippedroundhisneck.

'Ifyouwillstandjustunderthemistletoe!'saidJean.

'Metoo,'saidNancy.

M.Poirotenjoyeditall-heenjoyeditverymuchindeed.

THELONELYGOD

He stood on a shelf in the British Museum, alone and forlorn amongst acompany of obviously more important deities. Ranged round the four walls,thesegreaterpersonagesall seemed todisplayanoverwhelming senseof theirownsuperiority.Thepedestalofeachwasdulyinscribedwiththelandandracethathadbeenproudtopossesshim.Therewasnodoubtoftheirposition;theyweredivinitiesofimportanceandrecognizedassuch.

Only the little god in the corner was aloof and remote from their company.Roughlyhewnoutofgreystone,hisfeaturesalmosttotallyobliteratedbytimeand exposure, he sat there in isolation, his elbows on his knees, and his headburiedinhishands;alonelylittlegodinastrangecountry.

Therewasno inscription to tell the landwhencehecame.Hewas indeed lost,without honor or renown, a pathetic little figure very far from home.No onenoticed him, no one stopped to look at him. Why should they? He was soinsignificant,ablockofgreystoneinacorner.OneithersideofhimweretwoMexicangodswornsmoothwithage,placididolswithfoldedhands,andcruel

mouthscurvedinasmilethatshowedopenlytheircontemptofhumanity.Therewas also a rotund, violently self-assertive little god,with a clenched fist,whoevidentlysufferedfromaswollensenseofhisownimportance,butpassers-bystopped to give him a glance sometimes, even if it was only to laugh at thecontrast of his absurdpompositywith the smiling indifferenceof hisMexicancompanions.

Andthelittlelostgodsatontherehopelessly,hisheadinhishands,ashehadsatyear in and year out, till one day the impossible happened, and he found - aworshipper.

"Anylettersforme?"

Thehall porter removedapacketof letters fromapigeonhole,gave a cursoryglancethroughthem,andsaidinawoodenvoice:

"Nothingforyou,sir."

FrankOliversighedashewalkedoutoftheclubagain.Therewasnoparticularreasonwhythereshouldhavebeenanythingforhim.Veryfewpeoplewrotetohim. Ever since he had returned from Burma in the spring, he had becomeconsciousofagrowingandincreasingloneliness.

FrankOliverwasamanjustoverforty,andthelasteighteenyearsofhislifehadbeenspentinvariouspartsoftheglobe,withbrieffurloughsinEngland.

Nowthathehadretiredandcomehometoliveforgood,herealizedforthefirsttimehowverymuchaloneintheworldhewas.

True, therewas his sisterGreta,married to aYorkshire clergyman, very busywith parochial duties and the bringingupof a family of small children.Gretawasnaturallyveryfondofheronlybrother,butequallynaturallyshehadverylittle time to give him. Then there was his old friend Tom Hurley. Tom wasmarried to a nice, bright, cheerful girl, very energetic and practical, ofwhomFrankwassecretlyafraid.She toldhimbrightly thathemustnotbeacrabbedoldbachelor,andwasalwaysproducing"nicegirls."FrankOliverfoundthatheneverhadanything tosay to these"nicegirls"; theyperseveredwithhimforawhile,thengavehimupashopeless.

Andyethewasnotreallyunsociable.Hehadagreatlongingforcompanionshipandsympathy,andeversincehehadbeenbackinEnglandhehadbecomeawareofagrowingdiscouragement.Hehadbeenaway too long,hewasoutof tunewiththetimes.Hespentlong,aimlessdayswanderingabout,wonderingwhaton

earthhewastodowithhimselfnext.

Itwas on one of these days that he strolled into theBritishMuseum.Hewasinterested inAsiatic curiosities, and so itwas thathechancedupon the lonelygod.Itscharmheldhimatonce.Herewassomethingvaguelyakin tohimself;here,too,wassomeonelostandastrayinastrangeland.HebecameinthehabitofpayingfrequentvisitstotheMuseum,justtoglanceinonthelittlegreystonefigure,initsobscureplaceonthehighshelf.

"Rough luckon the little chap," he thought to himself. "Probablyhad a lot offussmadeabouthimonce,kowtowingandofferingsandalltherestofit."

Hehadbeguntofeelsuchaproprietaryrightinhislittlefriend(itreallyalmostamounted to a sense of actual ownership) that hewas inclined to be resentfulwhen he found that the little god had made a second conquest. He haddiscoveredthelonelygod;nobodyelse,hefelt,hadarighttointerfere.

Butafterthefirstflashofindignation,hewasforcedtosmileathimself.Forthissecondworshipperwas such a little bit of a thing, such a ridiculous, patheticcreature,inashabbyblackcoatandskirtthathadseentheirbestdays.Shewasyoung,a littleover twentyheshouldjudge,withfairhairandblueeyes,andawistfuldrooptohermouth.

Herhatespeciallyappealedtohischivalry.Shehadevidentlytrimmeditherself,and itmadesuchabraveattempt tobesmart that its failurewaspathetic.Shewas obviously a lady, though a poverty-stricken one, and he immediatelydecidedinhisownmindthatshewasagovernessandaloneintheworld.

HesoonfoundoutthatherdaysforvisitingthegodwereTuesdaysandFridays,andshealwaysarrivedatteno'clock,assoonastheMuseumwasopen.Atfirsthedislikedherintrusion,butlittlebylittleitbegantoformoneoftheprincipalinterestsofhismonotonouslife.Indeed,thefellowdevoteewasfastoustingtheobjectofdevotionfromhispositionofpreeminence.Thedaysthathedidnotseethe"LittleLonelyLady,"ashecalledhertohimself,wereblank.

Perhaps she, too, was equally interested in him, though she endeavored toconcealthefactwithstudiousunconcern.Butlittlebylittleasenseoffellowshipwasslowlygrowingbetweenthem,thoughasyettheyhadexchangednospokenword.The truthof thematterwas, themanwas tooshy!Heargued tohimselfthatverylikelyshehadnotevennoticedhim(someinnersensegavethelietothatinstantly),thatshewouldconsideritagreatimpertinence,and,finally,thathehadnottheleastideawhattosay.

ButFate, or the little god,waskind, and sent himan inspiration - orwhatheregarded as such. With infinite delight in his own cunning, he purchased awoman'shandkerchief,a frail littleaffairofcambricand lacewhichhealmostfearedto touch,and, thusarmed,hefollowedherasshedeparted,andstoppedherintheEgyptianroom.

"Excuse me, but is this yours?" He tried to speak with airy unconcern, andsignallyfailed.

TheLonelyLadytookit,andmadeapretenceofexaminingitwithminutecare.

"No, it isnotmine."Shehanded itback,andadded,withwhathe feltguiltilywasasuspiciousglance:"It'squiteanewone.Thepriceisstillonit."

Buthewasunwillingtoadmitthathehadbeenfoundout.Hestartedonanover-plausibleflowofexplanation.

"Yousee,Ipickeditupunderthatbigcase.Itwasjustbythefarthestlegofit."Hederivedgreatrelieffromthisdetailedaccount."So,asyouhadbeenstandingthere,Ithoughtitmustbeyoursandcameafteryouwithit."

She said again: "No, it isn't mine," and added, as if with a sense ofungraciousness,"Thankyou."

Theconversationcametoanawkwardstandstill.Thegirlstoodthere,pinkandembarrassed,evidentlyuncertainhowtoretreatwithdignity.

Hemadeadesperateefforttotakeadvantageofhisopportunity.

"I-Ididn'tknowtherewasanyoneelseinLondonwhocaredforourlittlelonelygodtillyoucame."

Sheansweredeagerly,forgettingherreserve:"Doyoucallhimthattoo?"

Apparently, ifshehadnoticedhispronoun,shedidnotresent it.Shehadbeenstartled into sympathy, and his quiet "Of course!" seemed the most naturalrejoinderintheworld.

Againtherewasasilence,butthistimeitwasasilencebornofunderstanding.

It was the Lonely Lady who broke it in a sudden remembrance of theconventionalities.

Shedrewherselfuptoherfullheight,andwithanalmostridiculousassumptionof dignity for so small a person, she observed in chilling accents: "Imust be

goingnow.Goodmorning."Andwithaslight,stiffinclinationofherhead,shewalkedaway,holdingherselfveryerect.

ByallacknowledgedstandardsFrankOliveroughttohavefeltrebuffed,butitisaregrettablesignofhisrapidadvanceindepravitythathemerelymurmuredtohimself:"Littledarling!"

Hewassoontorepentofhistemerity,however.Fortendayshislittleladynevercame near theMuseum.Hewas in despair!He had frightened her away! Shewould never come back! He was a brute, a villain! He would never see heragain!

Inhis distresshehaunted theBritishMuseumall day long.Shemightmerelyhavechangedhertimeofcoming.Hesoonbegantoknowtheadjacentroomsbyheart,andhecontracteda lastinghatredofmummies.Theguardianpolicemanobserved himwith suspicionwhen he spent three hours poring overAssyrianhieroglyphics, and the contemplationof endlessvasesof all agesnearlydrovehimmadwithboredom.

But one day his patience was rewarded. She came again, rather pinker thanusual,andtryinghardtoappearself-possessed.

Hegreetedherwithcheerfulfriendliness.

"Goodmorning.Itisagessinceyou'vebeenhere."

"Goodmorning."

Shelet thewordsslipoutwithicyfrigidity,andcoldlyignoredtheendpartofhissentence.

Buthewasdesperate.

"Look here!" He stood confronting her with pleading eyes that reminded herirresistibly of a large, faithful dog. "Won't you be friends? I'm all alone inLondon - all alone in the world, and I believe you are, too.We ought to befriends.Besides,ourlittlegodhasintroducedus."

She looked up half doubtfully, but there was a faint smile quivering at thecornersofhermouth.

"Hashe?"

"Ofcourse!"

Itwas the second timehehadused this extremelypositive formof assurance,andnow,asbefore,itdidnotfailofitseffect,forafteraminuteortwothegirlsaid,inthatslightlyroyalmannerofhers:

"Verywell."

"That'ssplendid,"herepliedgruffly,buttherewassomethinginhisvoiceashesaiditthatmadethegirlglanceathimswiftly,withasharpimpulseofpity.

And so thequeer friendshipbegan.Twice aweek theymet, at the shrineof alittle heathen idol. At first they confined their conversation solely to him.Hewas,as itwere,atonceapalliationof,andanexcusefor their friendship.Thequestionofhisoriginwaswidelydiscussed.Themaninsistedonattributingtohim the most bloodthirsty characteristics. He depicted him as the terror anddreadofhisnativeland, insatiableforhumansacrifice,andboweddowntobyhis people in fear and trembling. In the contrast between his former greatnessandhispresent insignificancetherelay,accordingtotheman,all thepathosofthesituation.

TheLonelyLadywouldhavenoneofthistheory.Hewasessentiallyakindlittlegod, she insisted.Shedoubtedwhether he had ever beenvery powerful. If hehadbeenso,sheargued,hewouldnotnowbelostandfriendless,and,anyway,hewasadearlittlegod,andshelovedhim,andshehatedtothinkofhimsittingtheredayafterdaywithallthoseotherhorrid,superciliousthingsjeeringathim,becauseyoucouldseetheydid!Afterthisvehementoutburstthelittleladywasquiteoutofbreath.

That topicexhausted, theynaturallybeganto talkof themselves.Hefoundoutthathissurmisewascorrect.Shewasanurserygovernesstoafamilyofchildrenwho lived atHampstead.He conceived an instant dislikeof these children; ofTed,whowasfiveandreallynotnaughty,onlymischievous;of the twinswhowere rather trying, and ofMolly,whowouldn't do anything shewas told, butwassuchadearyoucouldn'tbecrosswithher!

"Thosechildrenbullyyou,"hesaidgrimlyandaccusinglytoher.

"Theydonot,"sheretortedwithspirit."Iamextremelysternwiththem."

"Oh! Ye gods!" he laughed. But she made him apologize humbly for hisscepticism.

Shewasanorphan,shetoldhim,quitealoneintheworld.

Graduallyhe toldhersomethingofhisownlife:ofhisofficial life,whichhadbeenpainstakingandmildlysuccessful;andofhisunofficialpastime,whichwasthespoilingofyardsofcanvas.

"Of course, I don't knowanythingabout it,"he explained. "But I have alwaysfeltIcouldpaintsomethingsomeday.Icansketchprettydecently,butI'dliketodoarealpictureofsomething.Achapwhoknewoncetoldmethatmytechniquewasn'tbad."

Shewasinterested,pressedfordetails.

"Iamsureyoupaintawfullywell."

Heshookhishead.

"No,I'vebegunseveral thingslatelyandchuckedthemupindespair. Ialwaysthoughtthat,whenIhadthetime,itwouldbeplainsailing.Ihavebeenstoringup that idea for years, but now, like everything else, I suppose, I've left it toolate."

"Nothing'stoolate-ever,"saidthelittlelady,withthevehementearnestnessoftheveryyoung.

Hesmileddownonher."Youthinknot,child?It's toolateforsomethingsforme."

AndthelittleladylaughedathimandnicknamedhimMethuselah.

TheywerebeginningtofeelcuriouslyathomeintheBritishMuseum.Thesolidandsympatheticpolicemanwhopatrolledthegallerieswasamanof tact,andon the appearance of the couple he usually found that his onerous duties ofguardianshipwereurgentlyneededintheadjoiningAssyrianroom.

Onedaythemantookaboldstep.Heinvitedherouttotea!

Atfirstshedemurred.

"Ihavenotime.Iamnotfree.IcancomesomemorningsbecausethechildrenhaveFrenchlessons."

"Nonsense," said theman. "You couldmanage one day.Kill off an aunt or asecondcousinorsomething,butcome.We'llgotoalittleABCshopnearhere,andhavebunsfortea!Iknowyoumustlovebuns!"

"Yes,thepennykindwithcurrants!"

"Andalovelyglazeontop-"

"Theyaresuchplump,dearthings!"

"Thereissomething,"FrankOliversaidsolemnly,"infinitelycomfortingaboutabun!"

So itwas arranged, and the little governess came,wearing quite an expensivehothouseroseinherbeltinhonoroftheoccasion.

Hehadnoticed that,of late,shehadastrained,worried look,and itwasmoreapparent thanever thisafternoonasshepouredout the teaat the littlemarble-toppedtable.

"Childrenbeenbotheringyou?"heaskedsolicitously.

She shook her head. She had seemed curiously disinclined to talk about thechildrenlately.

"They'reallright.Inevermindthem."

"Don'tyou?"

Hissympathetictoneseemedtodistressherunwarrantably.

"Oh,no. Itwasnever that.But -but, indeed, Iwas lonely. Iwas indeed!"Hertonewasalmostpleading.

Hesaidquickly,touched:"Yes,yes,child.Iknow-Iknow."

After a minute's pause he remarked in a cheerful tone: "Do you know, youhaven'tevenaskedmynameyet?"

Sheheldupaprotestinghand.

"Please,Idon'twanttoknowit.Anddon'taskmine.Letusbejusttwolonelypeople who've come together and made friends. It makes it so much morewonderful-and-anddifferent."

Hesaidslowlyandthoughtfully:"Verywell.Inanotherwiselonelyworldwe'llbetwopeoplewhohavejusteachother."

It was a little different from her way of putting it, and she seemed to find itdifficulttogoonwiththeconversation.Instead,shebentlowerandloweroverherplate,tillonlythecrownofherhatwasvisible.

"That'sratheranicehat,"hesaidbywayofrestoringherequanimity.

"Itrimmeditmyself,"sheinformedhimproudly.

"I thought so themoment I saw it,"heanswered, saying thewrong thingwithcheerfulignorance.

"I'mafraiditisnotasfashionableasImeantittobe!"

"Ithinkit'saperfectlylovelyhat,"hesaidloyally.

Again constraint settled down upon them. Frank Oliver broke the silencebravely.

"LittleLady,Ididn'tmeantotellyouyet,butIcan'thelpit.Iloveyou.Iwantyou. I lovedyou from the firstmoment I sawyoustanding there inyour littleblacksuit.Dearest,iftwolonelypeopleweretogether-why-therewouldbenomoreloneliness.AndI'dwork,oh!howI'dwork!I'dpaintyou.Icould,IknowIcould.Oh!mylittlegirl,Ican'tlivewithoutyou.Ican'tindeed-"

Hislittleladywaslookingathimverysteadily.Butwhatshesaidwasquitethelast thing he expected her to say. Very quietly and distinctly she said: "Youboughtthathandkerchief!"

Hewasamazedatthisproofoffeminineperspicacity,andstillmoreamazedather remembering it against him now. Surely, after this lapse of time, itmighthavebeenforgivenhim.

"Yes,Idid,"heacknowledgedhumbly."Iwantedanexcusetospeaktoyou.Areyouveryangry?"

Hewaitedmeeklyforherwordsofcondemnation.

"Ithinkitwassweetofyou!"criedthelittleladywithvehemence."Justsweetofyou!"Hervoiceendeduncertainly.

FrankOliverwentoninhisgrufftone:

"Tellme,child,isitimpossible?IknowI'manugly,rougholdfellow-"

TheLonelyLadyinterruptedhim.

"No,you'renot!Iwouldn'thaveyoudifferent,notinanyway.Iloveyoujustasyou are, do you understand? Not because I'm sorry for you, not because I'maloneintheworldandwantsomeonetobefondofmeandtakecareofme-butbecauseyou'rejust-you.Nowdoyouunderstand?"

"Isittrue?"heaskedhalfinawhisper.

Andsheansweredsteadily:"Yes,it'strue-"

Thewonderofitoverpoweredthem.

Atlasthesaidwhimsically:"Sowe'vefallenuponheaven,dearest!"

"InanABCshop,"sheansweredinavoicethatheldtearsandlaughter.

But terrestrial heavens are short-lived. The little lady started up with anexclamation.

"I'dnoideahowlateitwas!Imustgoatonce."

"I'llseeyouhome."

"No,no,no!"

Hewasforcedtoyieldtoherinsistence,andmerelyaccompaniedherasfarastheTubestation.

"Goodbye,dearest."Sheclungtohishandwithanintensitythatherememberedafterwards.

"Only goodbye till tomorrow," he answered cheerfully. "Ten o'clock as usual,andwe'lltelleachotherournamesandourhistories,andbefrightfullypracticalandprosaic."

"Goodbyeto-heaven,though,"shewhispered.

"Itwillbewithusalways,sweetheart!"

Shesmiledbackathim,butwiththatsamesadappeal thatdisquietedhimandwhich he could not fathom. Then the relentless lift dragged her down out ofsight.

He was strangely disturbed by those last words of hers, but he put themresolutelyoutofhismindand substituted radiant anticipationsof tomorrow intheirstead.

At ten o'clock he was there, in the accustomed place. For the first time henoticed how malevolently the other idols looked down upon him. It almostseemedasiftheywerepossessedofsomesecretevilknowledgeaffectinghim,overwhichtheyweregloating.Hewasuneasilyawareoftheirdislike.

Thelittleladywaslate.Whydidn'tshecome?Theatmosphereofthisplacewasgetting on his nerves. Never had his own little friend (their god) seemed so

hopelessly impotent as today. A helpless lump of stone, hugging his owndespair!

Hiscogitationswereinterruptedbyasmall,sharp-facedboywhohadsteppedupto him, and was earnestly scrutinizing him from head to foot. Apparentlysatisfiedwiththeresultofhisobservations,heheldoutaletter.

"Forme?"

It had no superscription. He took it, and the sharp boy decamped withextraordinaryrapidity.

FrankOliverreadtheletterslowlyandunbelievingly.Itwasquiteshort.

Dearest,

Icannevermarryyou.PleaseforgetthatIevercameintoyourLifeatall,andtrytoforgivemeifIhavehurtyou.Don'ttrytofindme,becauseitwillbenogood.Itisreally'goodbye."

TheLonelyLady

Therewasapostscriptwhichhadevidentlybeenscribbledatthelastmoment:

Idoloveyou.Idoindeed.

Andthatlittleimpulsivepostscriptwasallthecomforthehadintheweeksthatfollowed.Needless tosay,hedisobeyedher injunction"not to try to findher,"butallinvain.Shehadvanishedcompletely,andhehadnocluetotraceherby.Headvertiseddespairingly,imploringherinveiledtermsatleasttoexplainthemystery,butblanksilencerewardedhisefforts.Shewasgone,nevertoreturn.

And then itwas that for the first time inhis life he reallybegan topaint.Histechniquehadalwaysbeengood.Nowcraftsmanshipandinspirationwenthandinhand.

ThepicturethatmadehisnameandbroughthimrenownwasacceptedandhungintheAcademy,andwasaccountedtobethepictureoftheyear,nolessfortheexquisite treatment of the subject than for the masterly workmanship andtechnique.Acertainamountofmystery,too,rendereditmoreinterestingtothegeneraloutsidepublic.

Hisinspirationhadcomequitebychance.Afairystoryinamagazinehadtakena hold on his imagination. It was the story of a fortunate Princess who hadalways had everything she wanted. Did she express a wish? It was instantlygratified.Adesire?Itwasgranted.Shehadadevotedfatherandmother,greatriches,beautifulclothesandjewels,slavestowaituponherandfulfilherlightestwhim, laughingmaidens to bear her company, all that the heart of a Princesscoulddesire.ThehandsomestandrichestPrincespaidhercourtandsuedinvainfor her hand, and were willing to kill any number of dragons to prove theirdevotion. And yet, the loneliness of the Princess was greater than that of thepoorestbeggarintheland.

Hereadnomore.Theultimatefateof thePrincess interestedhimnotatall.Apicture had risen up before him of the pleasure-laden Princess with the sad,solitary soul, surfeited with happiness, suffocated with luxury, starving in thePalaceofPlenty.

Hebeganpaintingwithfuriousenergy.Thefiercejoyofcreationpossessedhim.

HerepresentedthePrincesssurroundedbyhercourt,recliningonadivan.AriotofEasterncolorpervadedthepicture.ThePrincessworeamarvelousgownofstrange-colored embroideries; her golden hair fell round her, and on her headwasaheavy jeweledcirclet.Hermaidenssurroundedher,andPrinceskneltatherfeetbearingrichgifts.Thewholescenewasoneofluxuryandrichness.

ButthefaceofthePrincesswasturnedaway;shewasobliviousofthelaughterandmirtharoundher.Hergazewasfixedonadarkandshadowycornerwherestood a seemingly incongruous object: a little grey stone idol with its headburiedinitshandinaquaintabandonmentofdespair.

Was it so incongruous? The eyes of the young Princess rested on it with astrange sympathy, as though a dawning sense of her own isolation drew herglanceirresistibly.Theywereakin,thesetwo.Theworldwasatherfeet-yetshewasalone:aLonelyPrincesslookingatalonelylittlegod.

All London talked of this picture, and Greta wrote a few hurried words ofcongratulationfromYorkshire,andTomHurley'swifebesoughtFrankOliverto"comeforaweekendandmeeta reallydelightfulgirl,agreatadmirerofyourwork."FrankOliverlaughedoncesardonically,andthrewtheletterintothefire.Successhadcome-butwhatwastheuseofit?Heonlywantedonething-thatlittlelonelyladywhohadgoneoutofhislifeforever.

It wasAscot CupDay, and the policeman on duty in a certain section of theBritishMuseum rubbed his eyes and wondered if he were dreaming, for onedoesnotexpecttoseethereanAscotvision,inalacefrockandamarveloushat,a veritable nymph as imagined by a Parisian genius. The policeman stared inrapturousadmiration.

The lonelygodwasnotperhaps so surprised.Hemayhavebeen inhiswayapowerful little god; at any rate, herewas oneworshipper brought back to thefold.

TheLittle Lonely Ladywas staring up at him, and her lipsmoved in a rapidwhisper.

"Dearlittlegod,oh!dearlittlegod,pleasehelpme!Oh,pleasedohelpme!"

Perhaps the little god was flattered. Perhaps, if he was indeed the ferocious,unappeasabledeityFrankOliverhadimaginedhim,thelongwearyyearsandthemarchofcivilizationhadsoftenedhiscold,stoneheart.PerhapstheLonelyLadyhad been right all along and he was really a kind little god. Perhaps it wasmerely a coincidence. However thatmay be, it was at that verymoment thatFrankOliverwalkedslowlyandsadlythroughthedooroftheAssyrianroom.

HeraisedhisheadandsawtheParisiannymph.

Inanothermomenthisarmwas roundher,andshewasstammeringout rapid,brokenwords.

"Iwassolonely-youknow,youmusthavereadthatstoryIwrote;youcouldn'thave painted that picture unless you had, and unless youhadunderstood.ThePrincesswasI;Ihadeverything,andyetIwaslonelybeyondwords.OnedayIwasgoingtoafortuneteller's,andIborrowedmymaid'sclothes.Icameinhereon the way and saw you looking at the little god. That's how it all began. Ipretended-oh!itwashatefulofme,andIwentonpretending,andafterwardsIdidn'tdareconfessthatIhadtoldyousuchdreadfullies.IthoughtyouwouldbedisgustedatthewayIhaddeceivedyou.Icouldn'tbearforyoutofindout,soIwentaway.ThenIwrotethatstory,andyesterdayIsawyourpicture.Itwasyourpicture,wasn'tit?"

Onlythegodsreallyknowtheword"ingratitude."

It is to be presumed that the lonely little god knew the black ingratitude ofhumannature.Asadivinityhehaduniqueopportunitiesofobservingit,yet inthehourof trial, hewhohadhad sacrifices innumerableoffered tohim,made

sacrifice inhis turn.He sacrificedhis only twoworshippers in a strange land,anditshowedhimtobeagreatlittlegodinhisway,sincehesacrificedallthathehad.

Throughthechinksinhisfingershewatchedthemgo,handinhand,withoutabackwardglance,twohappypeoplewhohadfoundheavenandhadnoneedofhimanylonger.

Whatwashe,afterall,butaverylonelylittlegodinastrangeland?

MANXGOLD

"ManxGold" isnoordinarydetectivestory; indeed, it isprobablyunique.Thedetectives are conventional enough, but although they are confronted with aparticularly brutal murder, the murderer's identity is not their main concern.Theyaremore interested inunravelinga seriesofclues to thewhereaboutsofhiddentreasure,atreasurewhoseexistenceisnotconfinedtotheprintedpage.Clearly,someexplanationisrequired...

Inthewinterof1929,AldermanArthurB.Crookallhadanidea.Crookallwasthechairmanofthe"JuneEffort,"acommitteeresponsibleforboostingtourismto the IsleofMan,asmall islandoff thenorthwestcoastofEngland.His ideawasthatthereshouldbeatreasurehunt,inspiredbythemanylegendsofManxsmugglersandtheirlong-forgottenhoardsofbooty.

Therewouldbe"real"treasure,hiddenabouttheisland,andcluestoitslocationconcealed in the framework of a detective story. Some reservations wereexpressedbymembersofthecommittee,buteventuallyplanningbeganforthe"Isle ofManTreasureHunt Scheme," to take place at the start of the holidayseasonandrunatthesametimeasanumberofotherannualevents,suchasthe"CrowningoftheRoseQueen"andthemidnightyachtrace.

ButCrookallhadtofindsomeonetowritethestoryonwhichthehuntwouldbebased.Whobetter thanAgathaChristie?Perhapssurprisingly,and fora feeofonly sixty pounds, Christie accepted this, her most unusual commission. Shevisited the Isle ofMan at the end of April 1930, staying as the guest of thelieutenant governor, before returning to Devon, where her daughter was ill.Duringhervisit,ChristieandCrookallspentseveraldaysdiscussingthetreasurehunt, andvisited various sites in order to decidewhere the treasure shouldbehiddenandhowthecluesshouldbecomposed.

Theresultingstory,"ManxGold,"waspublishedinfiveinstallmentstowardstheend of May in the Daily Dispatch, a Manchester newspaper. A quarter of amillioncopiesofthestoryalsoweredistributedinbookletformtoguesthousesandhotelsacrosstheisland.Thefiveclueswerepublishedseparately,andasthedateonwhichthefirstwasduetoappearintheDispatchdrewnearer,theJuneEffortCommitteeappealedtoeveryoneto"cooperateinordertoobtainasmuchpublicity as possible" for the hunt.More touristsmeantmore tourist revenue,andthehuntwasalsodrawntotheattentionofseveralhundred"Homecomers"whohademigratedfromtheislandtotheUnitedStatesandwereduetoreturnashonored guests in June. In the words of the publicity at the time, it was "an

opportunityforallAmateurDetectivestotesttheirskill!"

Inthestory,JuanFarakerandFenellaMylecharanesetouttofindfourchestsoftreasure,whichhavebeenhiddenontheislandbytheireccentricUncleMyles.TocompetewithJuanandFenella,thereaderwasadvised-likethem-toequiphimself with "several excellent maps, various guidebooks descriptive of theisland,abookonfolkloreandabookonthehistoryoftheisland."

Thesolutionstothecluesaregivenattheendofthestory.

*

"OldMylecharaneliv'duponthebroo,

WhereJurbyslopesdowntothewood,

Hiscroftwasallgoldenwithcushagandfurze,

Hisdaughterwasfairtobehold.

"Ofather,theysayyou'veplentyofstore,

Buthiddenalloutoftheway.

NogoldcanIsee,butitsglintonthegorse;

Thenwhathaveyoudonewithit,pray?"

"Mygoldislockedupinacofferofoak,

WhichIdroppedinthetideanditsank,

Andthereitliesfixedlikeananchorofhope,

Allrightandassafeasthehank."

"Ilikethatsong,"IsaidappreciativelyasFenellafinished.

"Youshoulddo," saidFenella. "It's aboutourancestor,yoursandmine.UncleMyles'sgrandfather.Hemadeafortuneoutofsmugglingandhiditsomewhere,andnooneeverknewwhere."

Ancestry isFenella'sstrongpoint.She takesan interest inallherforbears.Mytendencies are strictly modern. The difficult present and the uncertain futureabsorballmyenergy.ButIlikehearingFenellasingingoldManxballads.

Fenellaisverycharming.Sheismyfirstcousinandalso,fromtimetotime,myfiancée.Inmoodsoffinancialoptimismweareengaged.Whenacorresponding

waveofpessimismsweepsoverusandwerealize thatweshallnotbeable tomarryforatleasttenyears,webreakitoff.

"Didn'tanyoneevertrytofindthetreasure?"Iinquired.

"Ofcourse.Buttheyneverdid."

"Perhapstheydidn'tlookscientifically."

"Uncle Myles had a jolly good try," said Fenella. "He said anyone withintelligenceoughttobeabletosolvealittleproblemlikethat."

That sounded to me very like our Uncle Myles, a cranky and eccentric oldgentleman,who lived in the IsleofManandwhowasmuchgiven todidacticpronouncements.

Itwasatthatmomentthatthepostcame-andtheletter!

"GoodHeavens,"criedFenella."Talkofthedevil-Imeanangels-UncleMylesisdead!"

Both she and I had seen our eccentric relative on only two occasions, so wecouldneitherofuspretend toaverydeepgrief.The letterwas froma firmoflawyers in Douglas, and it informed us that under the will of Mr. MylesMylecharane,deceased,FenellaandIwere joint inheritorsofhisestate,whichconsistedofahousenearDouglasandaninfinitesimalincome.Enclosedwasasealed envelope,whichMr.Mylecharane had directed should be forwarded toFenella at his death. This letter we opened and read its surprising contents. Ireproduceitinfull,sinceitwasatrulycharacteristicdocument.

MydearFenellaandJuan,

forItakeitthatwhereoneofyouistheotherwillnotbefaraway.Orsogossiphaswhispered.

You may remember having heard me say that anyone displaying a littleintelligencecouldeasilyfindthetreasureconcealedbymyamiablescoundrelofa grandfather. I displayed that intelligence andmy rewardwas four chests ofsolidgold-quitelikeafairystory,isitnot?

OflivingrelationsIhaveonlyfour:youtwo,mynephewEwanCorjeag,whomIhavealwaysheardisathoroughlybadlot,andacousin,aDoctorFayll,ofwhomIhaveheardvery little,and that littlenotalwaysgood.Myestateproper Iamleaving to you and Fenella, but I feel a certain obligation laid uponmewith

regard to this "treasure" which has fallen to my lot solely through my owningenuity.Myamiableancestorwouldnot,Ifeel,besatisfiedformetopassitontamelybyinheritance.SoI,inmyturn,havedevisedalittleproblem.

Therearestillfour"chests"oftreasure(thoughinamoremodernformthangoldingotsorcoins)andtherearetohefourcompetitors-myfourlivingrelations.Itwouldbefairesttoassignone"chest"toeach-buttheworld,mychildren,isnotfair.Theraceistotheswiftest-andoftentothemostunscrupulous.

WhoamI togoagainstNature?Youmustpityourwitsagainst theother two.There will be, I fear, very little chance for you. Goodness and innocence areseldomrewardedinthisworld.SostronglydoIfeelthisthatIhavedeliberatelycheated(unfairnessagain,younotice;).Thislettergoestoyoutwenty-fourhoursinadvanceoftheletterstotheothertwo.Thusyouwillhaveaverygoodchanceofsecuringthefirst"treasure"-twenty-fourhours'start,ifyouhaveanybrainsatall,oughttobesufficient.

ThecluesforfindingthistreasurearetobefoundatmyhouseinDouglas.Thecluesforthesecond"treasure"willnotbereleasedtillthefirsttreasureisfound.Inthesecondandsucceedingcases,therefore,youwillallstarteven.Youhavemygoodwishesforsuccess,andnothingwouldpleasemebetterthanforyoutoacquireallfour"chests,"butforthereasonswhichIhavealreadystatedIthinkthatmostunlikely.RememberthatnoscrupleswillstandindearEwan'sway.Donotmakethemistakeoftrustinghiminanyrespect.AstoDr.RichardFayll,Iknowlittleabouthim,butheis,Ifancy,adarkhorse.

Goodlucktoyouboth,butwithlittlehopesofyoursuccess,

Youraffectionateuncle,

MylesMylecharane

Aswereachedthesignature,Fenellamadealeapfrommyside.

"Whatisit?"Icried.

FenellawasrapidlyturningthepagesofanABC.

"Wemustget totheIsleofManassoonaspossible,"shecried."Howdarehesayweweregoodandinnocentandstupid?I'llshowhim!Juan,we'regoingtofindall fourof these 'chests'andgetmarriedand livehappilyeverafterwards,withRolls-Roycesandfoot-menandmarblebaths.ButwemustgettotheIsleofManatonce."

It was twenty-four hours later. We had arrived in Douglas, interviewed thelawyers, and were now at Maughold House facing Mrs. Skillicorn, our lateuncle'shousekeeper,asomewhatformidablewomanwhoneverthelessrelentedalittlebeforeFenella'seagerness.

"Queerwayshehad,"shesaid."Likedtoseteveryonepuzzlingandcontriving."

"Buttheclues,"criedFenella."Theclues?"

Deliberately,asshedideverything,Mrs.Skillicorn left the room.Shereturnedafteranabsenceofsomeminutesandheldoutafoldedpieceofpaper.

We unfolded it eagerly. It contained a doggerel rhyme inmy uncle's crabbedhandwriting.

Fourpointsofthecompasssotherebe

SandW,NandE.

Eastwindsarebadformanandbeast.

Gosouthandwestand

Northnoteast.

"Oh!"saidFenellablankly.

"Oh!"saidI,withmuchthesameintonation.

Mrs.Skillicornsmiledonuswithgloomyrelish.

"Notmuchsensetoit,isthere?"shesaidhelpfully.

"It-Idon'tseehowtobegin,"saidFenella,piteously.

"Beginning,"Isaid,withacheerfulnessIdidnotfeel,"isalwaysthedifficulty.Oncewegetgoing-"

Mrs.Skillicornsmiledmoregrimlythanever.Shewasadepressingwoman.

"Can'tyouhelpus?"askedFenellacoaxingly.

"Iknownothingaboutthesillybusiness.Didn'tconfideinme,youruncledidn't.Itoldhimtoputhismoneyinthebank,andnononsense.Ineverknewwhathewasupto."

"Heneverwentoutwithanychests-oranythingofthatkind?"

"Thathedidn't."

"Youdon'tknowwhenhehidthestuff-whetheritwaslatelyorlongago?"

Mrs.Skillicornshookherhead.

"Well,"Isaid,tryingtorally."Therearetwopossibilities.Eitherthetreasureishidden here, in the actual grounds, or else itmay be hidden anywhere on theisland.Itdependsonthebulk,ofcourse."

AsuddenbrainwaveoccurredtoFenella.

"Youhaven'tnoticedanythingmissing?"shesaid."Amongmyuncle'sthings,Imean."

"Why,now,it'soddyoursayingthat-"

"Youhave,then?"

"AsIsay, it'soddyoursayingthat.Snuffboxes- there'sat leastfourof themIcan'tlaymyhandonanywhere."

"Fourofthem!"criedFenella."Thatmustbeit!We'reonthetrack.Let'sgooutinthegardenandlookabout."

"There'snothingthere,"saidMrs.Skillicorn."I'dknowiftherewere.Yourunclecouldn'thaveburiedanythinginthegardenwithoutmyknowingaboutit."

"Pointsofthecompassarementioned,"Isaid."Thefirstthingweneedisamapoftheisland."

"There'soneonthatdesk,"saidMrs.Skillicorn.

Fenellaunfoldediteagerly.Somethingflutteredoutasshedidso.Icaughtit.

"Hullo,"Isaid."Thislookslikeafurtherclue."Webothwentoveriteagerly.

Itappearedtobearudekindofmap.Therewasacrossonitandacircleandapointing arrow, and directions were roughly indicated, but it was hardlyilluminating.Westudieditinsilence.

"It'snotveryilluminating,isit?"saidFenella.

"Naturallyitwantspuzzlingover,"Isaid."Wecan'texpectittoleaptotheeye."

Mrs. Skillicorn interrupted with a suggestion of supper, to which we agreedthankfully.

"Andcouldwehavesomecoffee?"saidFenella."Lotsofit-veryblack."

Mrs.Skillicornprovideduswithanexcellentmeal,andatitsconclusionalargejugofcoffeemadeitsappearance.

"Andnow,"saidFenella,"wemustgetdowntoit."

"Thefirstthing,"Isaid,"isdirection.Thisseemstopointclearlytothenortheastoftheisland."

"Itseemsso.Let'slookatthemap."

Westudiedthemapattentively.

"It all depends on how you take the thing," said Fenella. "Does the crossrepresentthetreasure?Orisitsomethinglikeachurch?Therereallyoughttoberules!"

"Thatwouldmakeittooeasy."

"Isupposeitwould.Whyaretherelittlelinesononesideofthecircleandnot

theother?"

"Idon'tknow."

"Arethereanymoremapsanywhere?"

Wewere sitting in the library.Therewere several excellentmaps.Therewerealsovariousguidebooksdescriptiveoftheisland.Therewasabookonfolklore.Therewasabookonthehistoryoftheisland.Wereadthemall.

Andatlastweformedapossibletheory.

"It does seem to fit," saidFenella at last. "Imean the two together is a likelyconjunctionwhichdoesn'tseemtooccuranywhereelse."

"It's worth trying, anyhow," I said. "I don't think we can do anything moretonight.Tomorrow,firstthing,we'llhireacarandgooffandtryourluck."

"It'stomorrownow,"saidFenella."Halfpasttwo!Justfancy!!"

Earlymorningsawusontheroad.Wehadhiredacarforaweek,arrangingtodriveitourselves.Fenella'sspiritsroseaswespedalongtheexcellentroad,mileaftermile.

"Ifonly itwasn't for theother two,whatfunthiswouldbe,"shesaid."This iswheretheDerbywasoriginallyrun,wasn'tit?BeforeitwaschangedtoEpsom.Howqueerthatistothinkoff"

Idrewherattentiontoafarmhouse.

"Thatmustbewherethereissaidtobeasecretpassagerunningundertheseatothatisland."

"Whatfun!Ilovesecretpassages,don'tyou?Oh!Juan,we'regettingquitenearnow.I'mterriblyexcited.Ifweshouldberight!"

Fiveminuteslaterweabandonedthecar.

"Everything'sintherightposition,"saidFenellatremulously.

Wewalkedon.

"Sixofthem-that'sright.Nowbetweenthesetwo.Haveyougotthecompass?"

Fiveminuteslater,wewerestandingfacingeachother,anincredulousjoyonourfaces-andonmyoutstretchedpalmlayanantiquesnuffbox.

Wehadbeensuccessful!

OnourreturntoMaugholdHouse,Mrs.Skillicornmetuswiththeinformationthattwogentlemenhadarrived.Onehaddepartedagain,buttheotherwasinthelibrary.

Atall,fairmanwithafloridfacerosesmilinglyfromanarmchairasweenteredtheroom.

"Mr.FarakerandMissMylecharane?Delightedtomeetyou.Iamyourdistantcousin,Dr.Fayll.Amusinggame,allthis,isn'tit?"

Hismannerwasurbaneandpleasant,butI tookanimmediatedisliketohim.Ifelt that in some way the man was dangerous. His pleasant manner was,somehow,toopleasant,andhiseyesnevermetyoursfairly.

"I'mafraidwe'vegotbadnewsforyou,"Isaid."MissMylecharaneandmyselfhavealreadydiscoveredthefirst'treasure.'"

Hetookitverywell.

"Toobad-toobad.Postsfromheremustbeodd.BarfordandIstartedatonce."

WedidnotdaretoconfesstheperfidyofUncleMyles.

"Anyway,weshallallstartfairforthesecondround,"saidFenella.

"Splendid. What about getting down to the clues right away? Your excellentMrs.-er-Skillicornholdsthem,Ibelieve?"

"Thatwouldn'tbefairtoMr.Corjeag,"saidFenella,quickly."Wemustwaitforhim."

"True, true - I had forgotten. We must get in touch with him as quickly aspossible.Iwillseetothat-youtwomustbetiredoutandwanttorest."

Thereuponhe tookhis departure.EwanCorjeagmust havebeenunexpectedlydifficulttofind,foritwasnottillnearlyeleveno'clockthatnightthatDr.Fayllrangup.HesuggestedthatheandEwanshouldcomeovertoMaugholdHouseatteno'clockthefollowingmorning,whenMrs.Skillicorncouldhandusouttheclues.

"Thatwilldosplendidly,"saidFenella."Teno'clocktomorrow."

Weretiredtobedtiredbuthappy.

ThefollowingmorningwewerearousedbyMrs.Skillicorn,completelyshakenoutofherusualpessimisticcalm.

"Whateverdoyouthink?"shepanted."Thehousehasbeenbrokeninto."

"Burglars?"Iexclaimedincredulously."Hasanythingbeentaken?"

"Notathing-andthat'stheoddpartofit!Nodoubttheywereafterthesilver-butthedoorbeinglockedontheoutsidetheycouldn'tgetanyfurther."

FenellaandIaccompaniedhertothesceneoftheoutrage,whichhappenedtobein her own sitting room. The window there had undeniably been forced, yetnothingseemedtohavebeentaken.Itwasallrathercurious.

"Idon'tseewhattheycanhavebeenlookingfor,"saidFenella.

"It's not as though therewere a 'treasure chest' hidden in the house," I agreedfacetiously.Suddenlyanideaflashedintomymind.IturnedtoMrs.Skillicorn.

"Theclues-thecluesyouweretogiveusthismorning?"

"Whytobesure-they'reinthattopdrawer."Shewentacrosstoit."Why-Idodeclare-there'snothinghere!They'regone!"

"Notburglars,"Isaid."Ouresteemedrelations!"

And I remembered Uncle Myles's warning on the subject of unscrupulousdealing.Clearlyhehadknownwhathewastalkingabout.Adirtytrick!

"Hush,"saidFenellasuddenly,holdingupafinger."whatwasthat?"

Thesoundshehadcaughtcameplainlytoourears.Itwasagroananditcamefrom outside. We went to the window and leaned out. There was shrubberygrowingagainstthissideofthehouseandwecouldseenothing;butthegroancameagain,andwecouldseethatthebushesseemedtohavebeendisturbedandtrampled.

Wehurrieddownandoutroundthehouse.Thefirstthingwefoundwasafallenladder, showinghow the thieves had reached thewindow.A few steps furtherbroughtustowhereamanwaslying.

Hewasayoungishman,dark,andhewasevidentlybadlyinjured,forhisheadwaslyinginapoolofblood.Ikneltdownbesidehim.

"Wemustgetadoctoratonce.I'mafraidhe'sdying."

Thegardenerwassentoffhurriedly.Islippedmyhandintohisbreastpocketandbroughtoutapocketbook.OnitweretheinitialsE.C.

"EwanCorjeag,"saidFenella.

The man's eyes opened. He said faintly: "Fell from ladder..." then lostconsciousnessagain.

Closebyhisheadwasalargejaggedstonestainedwithblood.

"It'sclearenough,"Isaid."Theladderslippedandhefell,strikinghisheadonthisstone.I'mafraidit'sdoneforhim,poorfellow."

"Soyouthinkthatwasit?"saidFenella,inanoddtoneofvoice.

Butatthatmomentthedoctorarrived.Heheldoutlittlehopeofrecovery.EwanCorjeagwasmoved into thehouse and anursewas sent for to take chargeofhim.Nothingcouldbedone,andhewoulddieacoupleofhourslater.

We had been sent for and were standing by his bed. His eyes opened andflickered.

"WeareyourcousinsJuanandFenella,"Isaid."Isthereanythingwecando?"

Hemadea faintnegativemotionof thehead.Awhispercame fromhis lips. Ibenttocatchit.

"Doyouwanttheclue?I'mdone.Don'tletFaylldoyoudown."

"Yes,"saidFenella."Tellme."

Somethinglikeagrincameoverhisface.

"D'yeken-"hebegan.

Thensuddenlyhisheadfelloversidewaysandhedied.

"Idon'tlikeit,"saidFenellasuddenly.

"Whatdon'tyoulike?"

"Listen,Juan.Ewanstole thoseclues-headmitsfallingfromtheladder.Thenwhere are they?We've seen all the contents of his pockets. Therewere threesealedenvelopes,soMrs.Skillicornsays.Thosesealedenvelopesaren'tthere."

"Whatdoyouthink,then?"

"Ithinktherewassomeoneelsethere,someonewhojerkedawaytheladderso

thatEwanfell.Andthatstone-heneverfellonit - itwasbroughtfromsomedistance away - I've found themark.Hewas deliberately bashed on the headwithit."

"ButFenella-that'smurder!"

"Yes,"saidFenella,verywhite."It'smurder.Remember,Dr.Fayllneverturnedupatteno'clockthismorning.Whereishe?"

"Youthinkhe'sthemurderer?"

"Yes.Youknow-thistreasure-it'salotofmoney,Juan."

"Andwe'venoideawheretolookforhim,"Isaid.

"ApityCorjeagcouldn'thavefinishedwhathewasgoingtosay."

"There'sonethingthatmighthelp.Thiswasinhishand."

Shehandedmeatornsnapshot.

"Supposeit'saclue.Themurderersnatcheditawayandnevernoticedhe'dleftacornerofitbehind.Ifweweretofindtheotherhalf-"

"Todothat,"Isaid,"wemustfindthesecondtreasure.Let'slookatthisthing."

"Hmm,"Isaid,"there'snothingmuchtogoby.Thatseemsakindoftowerinthemiddleofthecircle,butitwouldbeveryhardtoidentify."

Fenellanodded.

"Dr.Fayllhastheimportanthalf.Heknowswheretolook.We'vegottofindthatman,Juan,andwatchhim.Ofcourse,wewon'tlethimseewesuspect."

"Iwonderwhereaboutsintheislandheisthisminute.Ifweonlyknew-"

Mymindwentbacktothedyingman.SuddenlyIsatupexcitedly.

"Fenella,"Isaid,"Corjeagwasn'tScotch?"

"No,ofcoursenot."

"Well,then,don'tyousee?Whathemeant,Imean?"

"No?"

Iscribbledsomethingonapieceofpaperandtossedittoher.

"What'sthis?"

"Thenameofafirmthatmighthelpus."

"BellmanandTrue.Whoarethey?Lawyers?"

"No-they'remoreinourline-privatedetectives."

AndIproceededtoexplain.

"Dr.Faylltoseeyou,"saidMrs.Skillicorn.

Welookedateachother.Twenty-fourhourshadelapsed.Wehadreturnedfromour quest successful for the second time. Not wishing to draw attention toourselves,wehadjourneyedintheSnaefell-acharabanc.

"Iwonderifheknowswesawhiminthedistance?"murmuredFenella.

"It'sextraordinary.Ifithadn'tbeenforthehintthatphotographgaveus-"

"Hush - and do be careful, Juan. He must be simply furious at our havingoutwittedhiminspiteofeverything."

Notraceofitappearedinthedoctor'smanner,however.Heenteredtheroomhisurbaneandcharmingself,andIfeltmyfaithinFenella'stheorydwindling.

"What a shocking tragedy!"he said. "PoorCorjeag. I supposehewas -well -trying to steal amarch on us.Retributionwas swirl.Well,well -we scarcelyknew him, poor fellow. You must have wondered why I didn't turn up thismorningasarranged.Igotafakemessage-Corjeag'sdoing,Isuppose-itsentme off on awild-goose chase right across the island.And now you two haverompedhomeagain.Howdoyoudoit?"

Therewasanoteofreallyeagerinquiryinhisvoicewhichdidnotescapeme.

"CousinEwanwasfortunatelyabletospeakjustbeforehedied,"saidFenella.

Iwaswatchingtheman,andIcouldswearIsawalarmleapintohiseyesatherwords.

"Eh-eh?What'sthat?"hesaid.

"He was just able to give us a clue as to the whereabouts of the treasure,"explainedFenella.

"Oh! I see - I see. I've been clean out of things - though, curiously enough, Imyselfwasinthatpartoftheisland.Youmayhaveseenmestrollinground."

"Weweresobusy,"saidFenellaapologetically.

"Of course, of course. You must have run across the thing more or less byaccident.Luckyyoungpeople,aren'tyou?Well,what'sthenextprogram?WillMrs.Skillicornobligeuswiththenewclues?"

Butitseemedthatthisthirdsetofclueshadbeendepositedwiththelawyer,andwe all three repaired to the lawyer's office, where the sealed envelopes werehandedovertous.

The contentswere simple.Amapwith a certain areamarked off on it, and apaperofdirectionsattached.

In'85,thisplacemadehistory.

11pacesfromthelandmarkto

Theeast,thenanequalten

Placesnorth.Standthere

Lookingeast.Twotreesareinthe

Lineofvision.Oneofthem

Wassacredinthisisland.Draw

Acirclefivefeetfrom

TheSpanishchestnutand,

Withheadbent,walkround.Lookwell.You'llfind.

"Looks as though we are going to tread on each other's toes a bit today,"commentedthedoctor.

Truetomypolicyofapparentfriendliness,Iofferedhimaliftinourcar,whichheaccepted.WehadlunchatPortErin,andthenstartedonoursearch.

Ihaddebatedinmyownmindthereasonofmyuncle'sdepositingthisparticularsetofclueswithhislawyer.Hadheforeseenthepossibilityofatheft?Andhadhe determined that not more than one set of clues should fall into the thief'spossession?

Thetreasurehunt thisafternoonwasnotwithout itshumor.Theareaofsearchwaslimitedandwewerecontinuallyinsightofeachother.Weeyedeachothersuspiciously,each trying todeterminewhether theotherwas furtheronorhadhadabrainwave.

"ThisisallpartofUncleMyles'splan,"saidFenella.

"Hewantedustowatcheachotherandgothroughalltheagoniesofthinkingtheotherpersonwasgettingthere."

"Come,"Isaid."Let'sgetdowntoitscientifically.We'vegotonedefinitecluetostarton.'In'85thisplacemadehistory.'Lookupthereferencebookswe'vegotwithusandseeifwecan'thuntthatdown.Oncewegetthat-"

"He'slookinginthathedge,"interruptedFenella."Oh!Ican'tbearit.Ifhe'sgotit-"

"Attend tome," I said firmly. "There's really only oneway to go about it theproperway."

"Therearesofewtreesontheislandthatitwouldbemuchsimplerjusttolookforachestnuttree!"saidFenella.

I pass over the next hour.We grewhot and despondent - and all the timeweweretorturedwithfearthatFayllmightbesucceedingwhilstwefailed.

"I remember once reading in a detective story," I said, "how a fellow stuck apaperofwritinginabathofacid-andallsortsofotherwordscameout."

"Doyouthink-butwehaven'tgotabathofacid!"

"Idon'tthinkUncleMylescouldexpectexpertchemicalknowledge.Butthere'scommonorgardenheat-"

WeslippedroundthecornerofahedgeandinaminuteortwoIhadkindledafewtwigs.IheldthepaperasclosetotheblazeasIdared.AlmostatonceIwasrewarded by seeing characters begin to appear at the foot of the sheet. Therewerejusttwowords.

"KirkhillStation,"readoutFenella.

Justat thatmomentFayllcameroundthecorner.Whetherhehadheardornotwehadnomeansofjudging.Heshowednothing.

"ButJuan,"saidFenella,whenhemovedaway,"thereisn'taKirkhillStation!"Sheheldoutthemapasshespoke.

"No,"Isaidexaminingit,"butlookhere."

AndwithapencilIdrewalineonit.

"Ofcourse!Andsomewhereonthatline-"

"Exactly."

"ButIwishweknewtheexactspot."

Itwasthenthatmysecondbrainwavecametome.

"Wedo!"Icried,andseizingthepencilagain,Isaid:"Look!"

Fenellautteredacry.

"How idiotic!" she cried. "And how marvelous: What a sell! Really. UncleMyleswasamostingeniousoldgentleman!"

Thetimehadcomeforthelastclue.This,thelawyerhadinformedus,wasnotinhiskeeping.Itwastobepostedtousonreceiptofapostcardsentbyhim.Hewouldimpartnofurtherinformation.

Nothingarrived,however,onthemorningitshouldhavedone,andFenellaandIwent throughagonies, believing thatFayll hadmanaged somehow to interceptour letter. The next day, however, our fears were calmed and the mysteryexplainedwhenwereceivedthefollowingilliteratescrawl:DearSirorMadam,

Escusedelaybuthavebeenallsixesandsevensbutidonowasmr.Mylecharane

axedmetoandsendyouthepieceofritingwotasbeeninmyfamilymanylongyearsthewothewanteditforidonotknow.

thankingyouiam

MaryKerruish

"Postmark-Bride,"Iremarked."Nowforthe'pieceofritinghandeddowninmyfamily'!"

Uponarock,asignyou'llsee.

O,tellmewhatthepointof

Thatmaybe?Well,firstly,(A).Near

Byyou'llfind,quitesuddenly,thelight

Youseek.Then(B).Ahouse.A

Cottagewithathatchandwall.

Ameanderinglanenearby.Thatall.

"It'sveryunfairtobeginwitharock,"saidFenella."Therearerockseverywhere.Howcanyoutellwhichonehasthesignonit?"

"Ifwecouldsettleonthedistrict,"Isaid,"itoughttobefairlyeasytofindtherock. It must have a mark on it pointing in a certain direction, and in thatdirectiontherewillbesomethinghiddenwhichwillthrowlightonthefindingofthetreasure."

"Ithinkyou'reright,"saidFenella.

"That'sA.ThenewcluewillgiveusahintwhereB,thecottage,istobefound.Thetreasureitselfishiddendownalanealongsidethecottage.Butclearlywe'vegottofindAfirst.

Owingtothedifficultyof theinitialstep,UncleMyles's lastproblemprovedareal teaser.ToFenella falls thedistinctionofunraveling it -andeven thenshedidnotaccomplishitfornearlyaweek.NowandthenwehadcomeacrossFayllinoursearchofrockydistricts,buttheareawasawideone.

Whenwefinallymadeourdiscoveryitwaslateintheevening.Toolate,Isaid,tostartofftotheplaceindicated.Fenelladisagreed.

"Supposing Fayll finds it, too," she said. "And we wait till tomorrow and hestartsofftonight.Howweshouldkickourselves!"

Suddenly,amarvelousideaoccurredtome.

"Fenella,"Isaid,"doyoustillbelievethatFayllmurderedEwanCorjeag?"

"Ido."

"ThenIthinkthatnowwe'vegotourchancetobringthecrimehometohim."

"Thatmanmakesmeshiver.He'sbadallthrough.Tellme."

"Advertisethefactthatwe'vefoundA.Thenstartoff.Tentoonehe'llfollowus.It'salonelyplace-justwhatwouldsuithisbook.He'llcomeoutintheopenifwepretendtofindthetreasure."

"Andthen?"

"Andthen,"Isaid,"he'llhavealittlesurprise."

It was close on midnight.We had left the car some distance away and werecreepingalongbythesideofawall.Fenellahadapowerfulflashlightwhichshewasusing.Imyselfcarriedarevolver.Iwastakingnochances.

Suddenly,withalowcry,Fenellastopped.

"Look,Juan,"shecried."We'vegotit.Atlast."

ForamomentIwasoffmyguard.LedbyinstinctIwhirledround-buttoolate.Fayllstoodsixpacesawayandhisrevolvercoveredusboth.

"Goodevening,"he said. "This trick ismine.You'llhandover that treasure, ifyouplease."

"Wouldyoulikemealsotohandoversomethingelse?"Iasked."Halfasnapshottornfromadyingman'shand?Youhavetheotherhalf,Ithink."

Hishandwavered.

"Whatareyoutalkingabout?"hegrowled.

"The truth'sknown," I said. "YouandCorjeagwere there together.Youpulledaway the ladder and crashed his headwith that stone. The police are clevererthanyouimagine,Dr.Fayll."

"Theyknow,dothey?Then,byHeaven,I'llswingforthreemurdersinsteadofone!"

"Drop,Fenella,"Iscreamed.Andatthesameminutehisrevolverbarkedloudly.

Wehadbothdropped in theheather,andbeforehecould fireagainuniformed

men sprang out frombehind thewallwhere they had been hiding.AmomentlaterFayllhadbeenhandcuffedandledaway.

IcaughtFenellainmyarms.

"IknewIwasright,"shesaidtremulously.

"Darling!"Icried,"itwastoorisky.Hemighthaveshotyou."

"Buthedidn't,"saidFenella."Andweknowwherethetreasureis."

"Dowe?"

"Ido.See -" shescribbledaword. "We'll look for it tomorrow.Therecan'tbemanyhidingplacesthere,Ishouldsay."

Itwasjustnoonwhen:

"Eureka!"saidFenellasoftly."Thefourthsnuffbox!We'vegot themall.UncleMyleswouldbepleased.Andnow-"

"Now,"Isaid,"wecanbemarriedandlivetogetherhappilyeverafterwards."

"We'llliveintheIsleofMan,"saidFenella.

"OnManxGold,"Isaid,andlaughedaloudforsheerhappiness.

*

The treasure is all that is left of the lost fortune of "Old Mylecharane," alegendary Manx smuggler. In reality, the treasure took the form of foursnuffboxes, each about the size of a matchbox and containing an eighteenth-centuryManxhalfpennywith a hole in it, throughwhichwas tied a lengthofcoloredribbon,andaneatlyfoldeddocument,executedwithmanyflourishesinIndiainkandsignedbyAldermanCrookall,whichdirectedthefindertoreportatoncetotheclerkat thetownhall inDouglas, thecapitalof theIsleofMan.Finderswereinstructedtotakewiththemthesnuffboxanditscontentsinorderto claim a prize of one hundred pounds (equivalent to about three thousandpounds today). They also had to bring with them proof of identity, for onlyvisitors to the island were allowed to search for the treasure;Manx residentswereexcludedfromthehunt.

Thesolepurposeofthefirstcluein"ManxGold,"therhymewhichbegins"Fourpointsofthecompasssotherebe,"publishedintheDailyDispatchonSaturday,May 31, was to indicate that the four treasures would be found in the north,

south,andwestoftheisland,butnotintheeast.Thecluetothelocationofthefirstsnuffboxwasinfactthesecondclue,amappublishedonJune7.However,the treasurehadalreadybeenfoundbya tailor fromInverness,WilliamShaw,becausesufficientcluestoitslocationwerecontainedinthestoryitself.

ThemostimportantcluewasFenella'sremarkthatthehidingplacewasneartheplace"whereDerbywasoriginallyrun...beforeitwaschangedtoEpsom."Thisis a reference to the famous English horse race, which was first run atDerbyhaveninthesoutheastoftheIsleofMan.The"quitenear"islandtowhich"asecretpassage"wasrumoredtorunfromafarmhousecaneasilybeidentifiedasSt.Michael's Isle,onwhich, inaddition to the twelfth-centurychapelofSt.Michael, is a circular stone tower known as the Derby Fort, from which theisland gets its alternative name, Fort Island - "the two together is a likelyconjunction which doesn't seem to occur anywhere else." The fort wasrepresentedonthemapbyacirclewithsix linesprojectedfromit torepresentthesixhistoricalcannons-"sixofthem"-inthefort;thechapelwasrepresentedbyacross.

The small pewter snuffbox was hidden on a rocky ledge running in anortheasterlydirection frombetween themiddle twocannons -"between thesetwohaveyougot the compass?" -while Juan's initial suggestion that the clue"pointstothenortheastoftheisland"wasaredherring.

Thesecondsnuffbox,apparentlyconstructedfromhorn,waslocatedonJune9by Richard Highton, a Lancashire builder. As Fenella made clear to themurderousDr.Fayll,EwanCorjeag'sdyingwords,"D'yeken-"areacluetothewhereaboutsofthetreasure.Infact,theyaretheopeningwordsofthetraditionalEnglish song "John Peel," about a Cumbrian hunts-man, and when Juansuggestedthat"BellmanandTrue"wasthe"nameofafirmthatmighthelpus,"he was not referring to the "firm of lawyers in Douglas" mentioned at thebeginningof thestorybut totwoofJohnPeel'shounds,asnamedinthesong.Withtheseclues,thesubjectofthe"tornsnapshot,"whichwaspublishedasthethird clue on June 9,would not have been "very hard to identify"; itwas theruinsofthefourteenth-centuryPeelCastleonSt.Patrick'sIsle,andcurvedlinesalongthephotograph'sleft-handedgewerethecurlicuesonthearmofabenchonPeelHill,whichlooksdownonthecastleandunderwhichthesnuffboxwashidden.ThecharabancjourneytoSnaefell,thehighestpeakontheIsleofMan,wasanotherredherring.

The third "treasure" was found by Mr. Herbert Elliot, a Manx-born ship'sengineerlivinginLiverpoolM.Elliotlaterclaimedthathehadnotread"Manx

Gold"norevenstudiedtheclues,buthadsimplydecidedonalikelyareawhere,veryearlyonthemorningofJuly8,hechanceduponthesnuffbox,hiddeninagully.

Theprincipalcluetoitswhereaboutswashiddeninthefourthclue,publishedonJune 14 (the vers beginning "In '85, this place made history"), in which thesecondwordofeachlinespellsoutthefollowingmessage:"85...paces...east...north...east...of...sacred...circle...Spanish...head."The"Sacredcircle" is theMeayllcircleonMullHill,aroegalithicmonumentalittleoveramilefromtheSpanish Head, the most southerly point of the island. The reference to animportant event "in '85" and a Spanish chestnut, which from contemporaryaccounts proved a diversion for many searchers, were false leads. As for"KirkhillStation,"theclueuncoveredbyJuan,Fenellarightlysaidthattherewasno such place. However, there is a village called Kirkhill and there is also arailway station at Port Erin, where Juan and Fenella had had lunch beforestartingtheirsearch.IfalineisdrawnfromKirkhilltoPortErinandcontinuedsouthward,iteventuallycrossestheMeayllcircle,"theexactspot"identifiedbyJuan.

Unfortunately, as was the case with the clues to the location of the thirdsnuffbox, those for the fourthwere never solved. The fifth and final clue, theversebeginning"Uponarock,asignyou'llsee,"waspublishedonJune21,buton July10, at theendof theextendedperiodallowed for thehunt,whichhadoriginally been intended to finish at the end of June, the final "treasure"was"lifted"bytheMayorofDouglas.Twodayslater,asa"sequel"tothestory,theDailyDispatchpublishedaphotographoftheeventandChristie'sexplanationofthefinalclue:ThatlastcluestillmakesmesmilewhenIrememberthetimewewastedlookingforrockswithasignonthem.Therealcluewassosimple-thewords"sixesandsevens"inthecoveringletter.

Take the sixth and seventhwords of each line of the verse, and you get this:"You'll see.Pointof (A).Near the lighthouseawall."See thepointof (A)weidentifiedas thePointofAyre.Wespentsometimefindingtherightwall,andthetreasureitselfwasnotthere.Instead,therewerefourfigures-2,5,6,and9scrawledonastone.

Apply them to the letters of the first line of the verse, and you get theword"park."ThereisonlyonerealparkintheIsleofMan,atRamsey.Wesearchedthatpark,andfoundatlastwhatwesought.

The thatchedbuilding inquestionwasa small refreshmentkiosk,and thepath

leadingpastitranuptoanivy-coveredwall,whichwasthehidingplaceoftheelusive snuffbox. The fact that the letter had been posted in Bride was anadditional clue, as this village is near the lighthouse at the Point ofAyre, thenorthern-mosttipoftheisland.

Itisimpossibletojudgewhetherornot"ManxGold"wasasuccessfulmeansofpromotingtourismontheIsleofMan.Certainly,itappearsthatthereweremorevisitors in 1930 than in previous years, but how far that increase could beascribedtothetreasurehuntisfarfromclear.Contemporarypressreportsshowthat thereweremanywhodoubted that ithadbeenofany realvalue,andataciviclunchtomarktheendofthehunt,AldermanCrookallrespondedtoavoteofthanksbyrailingagainstthosewhohadfailedtotalkupthehunt-theywere"slackersandgrouserswhoneverdidanythingbutofferupcriticism."

Thefact that theywerenotallowedto takepart in thehuntmighthavebeenacauseofapathyamongtheislanders,eventhoughtheDailyDispatchofferedtheManx resident with whom each finder was staying a prize of five guineas,equivalent to about one hundred fifty pounds today. This also might haveaccounted for various acts of gentle "sabotage," such as the laying of falsesnuffboxes and spoof clues, including a rock on which the word "lift" waspaintedbutunderwhichwasnothingmoreinterestingthandiscardedfruitpeel.

While thereneverhasbeenanyothereventquite like the IsleofMan treasurehunt,AgathaChristiedidgoon towritemysterieswitha similar theme.Mostobvious of these is the challenge laid down to Charmian Stroud and EdwardRossiterbytheireccentricUncleMathewin"StrangeJest,"aMissMarplestoryfirstpublished in1941as "ACaseofBuriedTreasure"andcollected inThreeBlindMice (1948). There is also a similarly structured "murder hunt" in thePoirotnovelDeadMan'sFolly(1956).

WITHINAWALL

ItwasMrs.LemprièrewhodiscoveredtheexistenceofJaneHaworth.Itwouldbe, of course. Somebody once said that Mrs. Lemprière was easily the mosthatedwomaninLondon,butthat,Ithink,isanexaggeration.Shehascertainlyaknackoftumblingontheonethingyouwishtokeepquietabout,andshedoesitwithrealgenius.Itisalwaysanaccident.

InthiscasewehadbeenhavingteainAlanEverard'sstudio.Hegavetheseteasoccasionally, and used to stand about in corners, wearing very old clothes,rattlingthecoppersinhistrouserpocketsandlookingprofoundlymiserable.

IdonotsupposeanyonewilldisputeEverard'sclaimtogeniusatthisdate.Histwomostfamouspictures,ColorandTheConnoisseur,whichbelongtohisearlyperiod,beforehebecamea fashionableportraitpainter,werepurchasedby thenation lastyear,and foronce thechoicewentunchallenged.Butat thedateofwhichIspeak,Everardwasonlybeginningtocomeintohisown,andwewerefreetoconsiderthatwehaddiscoveredhim.

It was his wife who organized these parties. Everard's attitude to her was apeculiarone.Thatheadoredherwasevident,andonlytobeexpected.AdorationwasIsobel'sdue.Butheseemedalwaystofeelhimselfslightlyinherdebt.Heassentedtoanythingshewished,notsomuchthroughtendernessasthroughanunalterableconviction that shehada right toherownway. I suppose thatwasnaturalenough,too,whenonecomestothinkofit.

ForIsobelLoringhadbeenreallyverycelebrated.Whenshecameoutshehadbeen the débutante of the season. She had everything except money; beauty,position, breeding, brains.Nobody expected her tomarry for love. Shewasn'tthatkindofgirl.Inhersecondseasonshehadthreestringstoherbow,theheirtoadukedom,arisingpolitician,andaSouthAfricanmillionaire.Andthen,toeveryone's surprise, she married Alan Everard - a struggling young painterwhomnoonehadeverheardof.

Itisatributetoherpersonality,Ithink,thateveryonewentoncallingherIsobelLoring.NobodyeveralludedtoherasIsobelEverard.Itwouldbe:"IsawIsobelLoringthismorning.Yes-withherhusband,youngEverard,thepainterfellow."

PeoplesaidIsobelhad"doneforherself."Itwould,Ithink,have"done"formostmen to be known as "Isobel Loring's husband." But Everard was different.Isobel'stalentforsuccesshadn'tfailedherafterall.AlanEverardpaintedColor.

Isupposeeveryoneknowsthepicture:astretchofroadwithatrenchdugdownit,andturnedearth,reddishincolor,ashininglengthofbrownglazeddrain-pipeand the hugenavvy, resting for aminute onhis spade - aHerculean figure instainedcorduroyswithascarletneckerchief.Hiseyeslookoutatyoufromthecanvas, without intelligence, without hope, but with a dumb unconsciouspleading, the eyes of a magnificent brute beast. It is a flaming thing - asymphonyoforangeandred.Alothasbeenwrittenaboutitssymbolism,aboutwhat it is meant to express. Alan Everard himself says he didn't mean it toexpressanything.Hewas,hesaid,nauseatedbyhavinghad to lookata lotofpicturesofVenetiansunsets,anda sudden longing fora riotofpurelyEnglishcolorassailedhim.

After that, Everard gave the world that epic painting of a public house -Romance: theblackstreetwith rain falling - thehalf-opendoor, the lightsandshining glasses, the little foxy-facedman passing through the doorway, small,mean,insignificant,withlipspartedandeyeseager,passingintoforget.

On the strength of these two pictures Everard was acclaimed as a painter of"workingmen."Hehadhisniche.Butherefusedtostayinit.Histhirdandmostbrilliant work, a full-length portrait of Sir Rufus Herschman. The famousscientistispaintedagainstabackgroundofretortsandcruciblesandlaboratoryshelves. The whole has what may be called a Cubist effect, but the lines ofperspectiverunstrangely.

Andnowhehadcompletedhisfourthwork-aportraitofhiswife.Wehadbeeninvited to see and criticize. Everard himself scowled and looked out of thewindow; Isobel Loring moved amongst the guests, talking technique withunerringaccuracy.

Wemadecomments.Wehadto.Wepraisedthepaintingofthepinksatin.Thetreatment of that,we said,was reallymarvelous.Nobody had painted satin inquitethatwaybefore.

Mrs.Lemprière,who isoneof themost intelligent art critics Iknow, tookmeasidealmostatonce.

"Georgie,"shesaid,"whathashedonetohimself?Thething'sdead.It'ssmooth.It's-oh!itsdamnable."

"PortraitofaLadyinPinkSatin?"Isuggested.

"Exactly.And yet the technique's perfect.And the care! There's enoughwork

thereforsixteenpictures."

"Toomuchwork?"Isuggested.

"Perhaps that's it. If thereeverwasanything there,he'skilled it.Anextremelybeautifulwomaninapinksatindress.Whynotacoloredphotograph?"

"Whynot?"Iagreed."Doyousupposeheknows?"

"Ofcourseheknows,"saidMrs.Lemprièrescornfully."Don'tyouseetheman'sonedge?Itcomes,Idaresay,ofmixingupsentimentandbusiness.He'sputhiswhole soul intopainting Isobel, because she is Isobel, and in sparingher, he'slosther.He'sbeentookind.You'vegotto-todestroythefleshbeforeyoucangetatthesoulsometimes."

Inoddedreflectively.SirRufusHerschmanhadnotbeenflatteredphysically,butEverard had succeeded in putting on the canvas a personality that wasunforgettable.

"AndIsobel'sgotsuchaveryforcefulpersonality,"continuedMrs.Lemprière.

"PerhapsEverardcan'tpaintwomen,"Isaid.

"Perhaps not," said Mrs. Lemprière thoughtfully. "Yes, that may be theexplanation."

Anditwasthen,withherusualgeniusforaccuracy,thatshepulledoutacanvasthat was leaning with its face to the wall. There were about eight of them,stackedcarelessly.ItwaspurechancethatMrs.Lemprièreselectedtheoneshedid-butasIsaidbefore,thesethingshappenwithMrs.Lemprière.

"Ah!"saidMrs.Lemprièreassheturnedittothelight.

It was unfinished, amere rough sketch. The woman, or girl - she was not, Ithought,more than twenty-five or -six -was leaning forward, her chin on herhand.Twothingsstruckmeatonce:theextraordinaryvitalityofthepictureandthe amazing cruelty of it. Everard had painted with a vindictive brush. Theattitude evenwas a cruel one - it had brought out every awkwardness, everysharp angle, every crudity. It was a study in brown - brown dress, brownbackground, brown eyes - wistful, eager eyes. Eagerness was, indeed, theprevailingnoteofit.

Mrs. Lemprière looked at it for some minutes in silence. Then she called toEverard.

"Alan,"shesaid."Comehere.Who'sthis?"

Everardcameoverobediently.Isawthesuddenflashofannoyancethathecouldnotquitehide.

"That'sonlyadaub,"hesaid."Idon'tsupposeIshalleverfinishit."

"Whoisshe?"saidMrs.Lemprière.

Everardwasclearlyunwillingtoanswer,andhisunwillingnesswasasmeatanddrinktoMrs.Lemprière,whoalwaysbelievestheworstonprinciple.

"Afriendofmine.AMissJaneHaworth."

"I'venevermetherhere,"saidMrs.Lemprière.

"She doesn't come to these shows." He paused a minute, then added: "She'sWinnie'sgodmother."

Winniewashislittledaughter,agedfive.

"Really?"saidMrs.Lemprière."Wheredoesshelive?"

"Battersea.Aflat."

"Really," saidMrs.Lemprière again, and then added: "Andwhat has she everdonetoyou?"

"Tome?"

"Toyou.Tomakeyouso-ruthless."

"Oh,that!"helaughed."Well,youknow,she'snotabeauty.Ican'tmakeheroneoutoffriendship,canI?"

"You'vedonetheopposite,"saidMrs.Lemprière."You'vecaughtholdofeverydefect of hers and exaggerated it and twisted it. You've tried to make herridiculous-butyouhaven'tsucceeded,mychild.Thatportrait, ifyoufinishit,willlive."

Everardlookedannoyed.

"It'snotbad,"hesaidlightly,"forasketch,thatis.But,ofcourse,it'snotapatchonIsobel'sportrait.That'sfarandawaythebestthingI'veeverdone."

Hesaidthelastwordsdefiantlyandaggressively.Neitherofusanswered.

"Farandawaythebestthing,"herepeated.

Some of the others had drawn near us. They, too, caught sight of the sketch.Therewereexclamations,comments.Theatmospherebegantobrightenup.

ItwasinthiswaythatIfirstheardofJaneHaworth.Later,Iwastomeether-twice. Iwas toheardetailsofher lifefromoneofhermost intimatefriends. Iwas to learnmuch fromAlanEverardhimself.Now that theyarebothdead, Ithink it is time to contradict some of the stories Mrs. Lemprière is busilyspreadingabroad.Callsomeofmystoryinventionifyouwill-itisnotfarfromthetruth.

Whentheguestshadleft,AlanEverardturnedtheportraitofJaneHaworthwithitsfacetothewallagain.Isobelcamedowntheroomandstoodbesidehim.

"Asuccess,doyouthink?"sheaskedthoughtfully."Or-notquiteasuccess?"

"Theportrait?"heaskedquickly.

"No,silly,theparty.Ofcoursetheportrait'sasuccess."

"It'sthebestthingI'vedone,"Everarddeclaredaggressively.

"We'regettingon,"saidIsobel."LadyCharmingtonwantsyoutopainther."

"Oh,Lord!"Hefrowned."I'mnotafashionableportraitpainter,youknow."

"Youwillbe.You'llgettothetopofthetree."

"That'snotthetreeIwanttogettothetopof."

"But,Alandear,that'sthewaytomakemintsofmoney."

"Whowantsmintsofmoney?"

"PerhapsIdo,"shesaidsmiling.

Atoncehefeltapologetic,ashamed.Ifshehadnotmarriedhimshecouldhavehadhermintsofmoney.Andsheneededit.Acertainamountofluxurywasherpropersetting.

"We'venotdonesobadlyjustlately,"hesaidwistfully.

"No,indeed;butthebillsarecominginratherfast."

Bills-alwaysbills!

Hewalkedupanddown.

"Oh,hangit!Idon'twanttopaintLadyCharmington,"heburstout,ratherlikea

petulantchild.

Isobel smiled a little. She stood by the firewithoutmoving.Alan stopped hisrestlesspacingandcamenearertoher.Whatwasthereinher,inherstillness,herinertia, thatdrewhim-drewhim likeamagnet?Howbeautiful shewas -herarmslikesculpturedwhitemarble,thepuregoldofherhair,herlips-red,fulllips.

Hekissed them- felt themfastenonhisown.Didanythingelsematter?WhatwasthereinIsobelthatsoothedyou,thattookallyourcaresfromyou?Shedrewyouintoherownbeautifulinertiaandheldyouthere,quietandcontent.Poppyandmandragora;youdriftedthere,onadarklake,asleep.

"I'lldoLadyCharmington,"hesaidpresently."Whatdoes itmatter?Ishallbebored-butafterall,paintersmusteat.There'sMr.Potsthepainter,Mrs.Potsthepainter'swife,andMissPotsthepainter'sdaughter-allneedingsustenance."

"Absurdboy!"saidIsobel."Talkingofourdaughter -youought togoandseeJane some time. She was here yesterday, and said she hadn't seen you formonths."

"Janewashere?"

"Yes-toseeWinnie."

AlanbrushedWinnieaside.

"Didsheseethepictureofyou?"

"Yes."

"Whatdidshethinkofit?"

"Shesaiditwassplendid."

"Oh!"

Hefrowned,lostinthought.

"Mrs.Lemprière suspects you of a guilty passion for Jane, I think," remarkedlsobel."Hernosetwitchedagooddeal."

"Thatwoman!"saidAlan,withdeepdisgust."Thatwoman!Whatwouldn'tshethink?Whatdoesn'tshethink?"

"Well,Idon'tthink,"saidIsobel,smiling."SogoonandseeJanesoon."

Alanlookedacrossather.Shewassittingnowonalowcouchbythefire.Herface was half turned away, the smile still lingered on her lips. And at thatmomenthefeltbewildered,confused,as thoughamisthadformedroundhim,andsuddenlyparting,hadgivenhimaglimpseintoastrangecountry.

Somethingsaidtohim:"WhydoesshewantyoutogoandseeJane?There'sareason." Because with Isobel, there was bound to be a reason. There was noimpulseinIsobel,onlycalculation.

"DoyoulikeJane?"heaskedsuddenly.

"She'sadear,"saidIsobel.

"Yes,butdoyoureallylikeher?"

"Ofcourse.She'ssodevotedtoWinnie.Bytheway,shewantstocarryWinnieoff to theseasidenextweek.Youdon'tmind,doyou?Itwill leaveus free forScotland."

"Itwillbeextraordinarilyconvenient."

Itwould, indeed, be just that.Extraordinarily convenient.He looked across atIsobelwithasuddensuspicion.HadsheaskedJane?Janewassoeasilyimposedupon.

Isobelgotupandwentoutoftheroom,hummingtoherself.Oh,well,itdidn'tmatter.Anyway,hewouldgoandseeJane.

JaneHaworthlivedatthetopofablockofmansionflatsoverlookingBatterseaPark.WhenEverardhadclimbed four flightsof stairsandpressed thebell,hefelt annoyed with Jane. Why couldn't she live somewhere more get-at-able?When,nothavingobtainedananswer,hehadpressed thebell three times,hisannoyance had grown greater. Why couldn't she keep someone capable ofansweringthedoor?

Suddenlyitopened,andJaneherselfstoodinthedoorway.Shewasflushed.

"Where'sAlice?"askedEverard,withoutanyattemptatgreeting.

"Well,I'mafraid-Imean-she'snotwelltoday."

"Drink,youmean?"saidEverardgrimly.

WhatapitythatJanewassuchaninveterateliar.

"Isupposethat'sit,"saidJanereluctantly.

"Letmeseeher."

Hestrode into theflat. Janefollowedhimwithdisarmingmeekness.Hefoundthe delinquent Alice in the kitchen. There was no doubt whatever as to hercondition.HefollowedJaneintothesittingroomingrimsilence.

"You'llhavetogetridofthatwoman,"hesaid."Itoldyousobefore."

"Iknowyoudid,Alan,butIcan'tdothat.Youforget,herhusband'sinprison."

"Whereheoughttobe,"saidEverard."Howoftenhasthatwomanbeendrunkinthethreemonthsyou'vehadher?"

"Notsoverymanytimes;threeorfourperhaps.Shegetsdepressed,youknow."

"Three or four! Nine or ten would be nearer the mark. How does she cook?Rottenly. Is she the least assistance or comfort to you in this flat? Nonewhatever. ForGod's sake, get rid of her tomorrowmorning and engage a girlwhoisofsomeuse."

Janelookedathimunhappily.

"Youwon't,"saidEverardgloomily,sinkingintoabigarmchair."You'resuchanimpossiblysentimentalcreature.What'sthisIhearaboutyourtakingWinnietotheseaside?Whosuggestedit,youorIsobel?"

Janesaidveryquickly:"Idid,ofcourse."

"Jane," saidEverard, "if youwould only learn to speak the truth, I should bequitefondofyou.Sitdown,andforgoodnesssakedon'ttellanymoreliesforatleasttenminutes."

"Oh,Alan!"saidJane,andsatdown.

Thepainterexaminedhercritically foraminuteor two.Mrs.Lemprière - thatwoman-hadbeenquiteright.Hehadbeencruel inhishandlingofJane.Janewasalmost,ifnotquite,beautiful.ThelonglinesofherwerepureGreek.Itwasthat eager anxietyofhers toplease thatmadeher awkward.Hehad seizedonthat-exaggeratedit-hadsharpenedthelineofherslightlypointedchin,flungherbodyintoanuglypose.

Why?WhywasitimpossibleforhimtobefiveminutesintheroomwithJanewithout feeling violent irritation against her rising up in him? Say what youwould,Janewasadearbut irritating.HewasneversoothedandatpeacewithherashewaswithIsobel.AndyetJanewassoanxioustoplease,sowillingto

agree with all he said, but alas! so transparently unable to conceal her realfeelings.

Helookedroundtheroom.TypicallyJane.Somelovelythings,puregems,thatpieceofBatterseaenamel,forinstance,andtherenexttoit,anatrocityofavasehandpaintedwithroses.

Hepickedthelatterup.

"Wouldyoubeveryangry,Jane,ifIpitchedthisoutofthewindow?"

"Oh!Alan,youmustn't."

"Whatdoyouwantwithallthistrash?You'veplentyoftasteifyoucaretouseit.Mixingthingsup!"

"Iknow,Alan.Itisn'tthatIdon'tknow.Butpeoplegivemethings.Thatvase-MissBatesbroughtitbackfromMargate-andshe'ssopoor,andhastoscrape,anditmusthavecostherquitealot-forher,youknow,andshethoughtI'dbesopleased.Isimplyhadtoputitinagoodplace."

Everardsaidnothing.Hewentonlookingaroundtheroom.Therewereoneortwoetchingsonthewalls-therewerealsoanumberofphotographsofbabies.Babies,whatevertheirmothersmaythink,donotalwaysphotographwell.AnyofJane'sfriendswhoacquiredbabieshurriedtosendphotographsofthemtoher,expectingthesetokenstobecherished.Janehaddulycherishedthem.

"Who's this little horror?" asked Everard, inspecting a pudgy addition with asquint."I'venotseenhimbefore."

"It'saher,"saidJane."MaryCarrington'snewbaby."

"PoorMaryCarrington," saidEverard. "I suppose you'll pretend that you likehavingthatatrociousinfantsquintingatyouallday?"

Jane'schinshotout.

"She'salovelybaby.Maryisaveryoldfriendofmine."

"Loyal Jane," saidEverard smilingather. "So Isobel landedyouwithWinnie,didshe?"

"Well,shedidsayyouwantedtogotoScotland,andIjumpedatit.YouwillletmehaveWinnie,won'tyou?I'vebeenwonderingifyouwouldlethercometomeforages,butIhaven'tlikedtoask."

"Oh,youcanhaveher-butit'sawfullygoodofyou."

"Thenthat'sallright,"saidJanehappily.

Everardlitacigarette.

"Isobelshowyouthenewportrait?"heaskedratherindistinctly.

"Shedid."

"Whatdidyouthinkofit?"

Jane'sanswercamequickly-tooquickly:

"It'sperfectlysplendid.Absolutelysplendid."

Alansprangsuddenlytohisfeet.Thehandthatheldthecigaretteshook.

"Damnyou,Jane,don'tlietome!"

"But,Alan,I'msure,itisperfectlysplendid."

"Haven'tyoulearnedbynow,Jane,thatIknoweverytoneofyourvoice?Youlietome likeahatter soasnot tohurtmy feelings, I suppose.Whycan'tyoubehonest?DoyouthinkIwantyoutotellmeathingissplendidwhenIknowaswellasyoudothatit'snot?Thedamnedthing'sdead-dead.There'snolifeinit-nothingbehind,nothingbutsurface,damnedsmoothsurface.I'vecheatedmyselfall along - yes, even this afternoon. I came along to you to find out. Isobeldoesn'tknow.Butyouknow,youalwaysdoknow.Iknewyou'dtellmeitwasgood-you'venomoralsenseaboutthatsortofthing.ButIcantellbythetoneofyourvoice.WhenIshowedyouRomanceyoudidn'tsayanythingatall-youheldyourbreathandgaveasortofgasp."

"Alan-"

Everardgavehernochancetospeak.Janewasproducingtheeffectuponhimheknew sowell. Strange that so gentle a creature could stir him to such furiousanger.

"YouthinkI'velostthepower,perhaps,"hesaidangrily,"butIhaven't.Icandowork every bit as good as Romance - better, perhaps. I'll show you, JaneHaworth."

Hefairlyrushedoutoftheflat.Walkingrapidly,hecrossedthroughtheParkandoverAlbertBridge.Hewasstilltinglingalloverwithirritationandbaffledrage.Jane,indeed!Whatdidsheknowaboutpainting?Whatwasheropinionworth?

Whyshouldhecare?Buthedidcare.HewantedtopaintsomethingthatwouldmakeJanegasp.Hermouthwouldopenjustalittle,andhercheekswouldflushred. She would look first at the picture and then at him. She wouldn't sayanythingatallprobably.

Inthemiddleofthebridgehesawthepicturehewasgoingtopaint.Itcametohimfromnowhereatall,outoftheblue.Hesawit,thereintheair,orwasitinhishead?

Alittle,dingycurioshop,ratherdarkandmustylooking.BehindthecounteraJew-asmallJewwithcunningeyes.Infrontofhimthecustomer,abigman,sleek,wellfed,opulent,bloated,agreatjowlonhim.Abovethem,onashelf,abust ofwhitemarble. The light there, on the boy'smarble face, the deathlessbeautyofoldGreece,scornful,unheedingofsaleandbarter.TheJew, therichcollector,theGreekboy'shead.Hesawthemall.

"TheConnoisseur, that'swhat I'll call it,"mutteredAlanEverard, steppingoffthe curb and just missing being annihilated by a passing bus. "Yes, TheConnoisseur.I'llshowJane."

When he arrived home, he passed straight into the studio. Isobel found himthere,sortingoutcanvases.

"Alan,don'tforgetwe'rediningwiththeMarches-"

Everardshookhisheadimpatiently.

"DamntheMarches.I'mgoingtowork.I'vegotholdofsomething,butImustgetitfixed-fixedatonceonthecanvasbeforeitgoes.Ringthemup.TellthemI'mdead."

Isobellookedathimthoughtfullyforamomentortwo,andthenwentout.Sheunderstood the art of living with a genius very thoroughly. She went to thetelephoneandmadesomeplausibleexcuse.

Shelookedroundher,yawningalittle.Thenshesatdownatherdeskandbegantowrite.

Manythanksforyourchequereceivedtoday.YouaregoodtoyourgodchildAhundredpoundswilldoallsortsofthings.Childrenareaterribleexpense.Youare so fondofWinnie that I felt Iwas not doingwrong in coming to you forhelp.Alan, likeallgeniuses,canonlyworkatwhathewants toworkat -andunfortunatelythatdoesn'talwayskeepthepotboiling.Hopetoseeyousoon.

Yours,

Isobel

WhenTheConnoisseurwas finished, somemonths later,Alan invited Jane tocome and see it. The thing was not quite as he had conceived it - that wasimpossibletohopefor-butitwasnearenough.Hefelttheglowofthecreator.Hehadmadethisthinganditwasgood.

Janedidnot this timetellhimitwassplendid.Thecolorcrept intohercheeksandher lipsparted.She lookedatAlan,andhesaw inhereyes thatwhichhewishedtosee.Janeknew.

Hewalkedonair.HehadshownJane!

Thepicture off hismind, hebegan to notice his immediate surroundingsoncemore.

Winniehadbenefitedenormouslyfromherfortnightattheseaside,butitstruckhimthatherclotheswereveryshabby.HesaidsotoIsobel.

"Alan!Youwhonevernoticeanything!ButIlikechildrentobesimplydressed-Ihatethemallfussedup."

"There'sadifferencebetweensimplicityanddarnsandpatches."

Isobel saidnothing,but shegotWinnieanewfrock.Twodays laterAlanwasstrugglingwith income-tax returns.His ownpassbook lay in front of him.Hewashunting through Isobel'sdesk forherswhenWinniedanced into the roomwithadisreputabledoll.

"Daddy, I've got a riddle. Can you guess it? 'Within awall as white asmilk,withinacurtainsoftassilk,bathedinaseaofcrystalclear,agoldenappledothappear.'Guesswhatthatis?"

"Yourmother,"saidAlanabsently.Hewasstillbunting.

"Daddy!"Winniegaveascreamoflaughter."It'sanegg.WhydidyouthinkitwasMummy?"

Alansmiledtoo.

"I wasn't really listening," he said. "And the words sounded like Mummy,somehow."

Awallaswhiteasmilk.Acurtain.Crystal.Thegoldenapple.Yes,itdidsuggestIsobeltohim.Curiousthings,words.

He had found the passbook now. He ordered Winnie peremptorily from theroom.Tenminuteslaterhelookedup,startledbyasharpejaculation.

"Alan!"

"Hullo,Isobel.Ididn'thearyoucomein.Lookhere,Ican'tmakeouttheseitemsinyourpassbook."

"Whatbusinesshadyoutotouchmypassbook?"

Hestaredather,astonished.Shewasangry.Hehadneverseenherangrybefore.

"Ihadnoideayouwouldmind."

"Idomind-verymuchindeed.Youhavenobusinesstotouchmythings."

Alansuddenlybecameangrytoo.

"Iapologize.ButsinceIhavetouchedyourthings,perhapsyouwillexplainoneortwoentriesthatpuzzleme.AsfarasIcansee,nearlyfivehundredpoundshasbeenpaidintoyouraccountthisyearwhichIcannotcheck.Wheredoesitcomefrom?"

Isobelhadrecoveredhertemper.Shesankintoachair.

"Youneedn'tbesosolemnaboutit,Alan,"shesaidlightly."Itisn'tthewagesofsin,oranythinglikethat."

"Wheredidthismoneycomefrom?"

"Fromawoman.Afriendofyours.It'snotmineatall.It'sforWinnie."

"Winnie?Doyoumean-thismoneycamefromJane?"

Isobelnodded.

"She'sdevotedtothechild-can'tdoenoughforher."

"Yes,but-surelythemoneyoughttohavebeeninvestedforWinnie."

"Oh!itisn'tthatsortofthingatall.It'sforcurrentexpenses,clothesandallthat."

Alansaidnothing.HewasthinkingofWinnie'sfrocks-alldarnsandpatches.

"Youraccount'soverdrawn,too,Isobel?"

"Isit?That'salwayshappeningtome."

"Yes,butthatfivehundred-"

"MydearAlan.I'vespentitonWinnieinthewaythatseemedbesttome.IcanassureyouJaneisquitesatisfied."

Alan was not satisfied. Yet such was the power of Isobel's calm that he saidnothingmore.Afterall,Isobelwascarelessinmoneymatters.Shehadn'tmeanttouseforherselfmoneygiventoherforthechild.Areceiptedbillcamethatdayaddressed by amistake toMr. Everard. Itwas from a dressmaker inHanoverSquare and was for two hundred odd pounds. He gave it to Isobel without aword.Sheglancedover it, smiled, and said: "Poor boy, I suppose it seems anawfullottoyou,butonereallymustbemoreorlessclothed."

ThenextdayhewenttoseeJane.

Janewas irritating and elusive as usual. Hewasn't to bother.Winniewas hergodchild.Womenunderstoodthesethings,mendidn't.Ofcourseshedidn'twantWinnietohavefivehundredpounds'worthoffrocks.WouldhepleaseleaveittoherandIsobel?Theyunderstoodeachotherperfectly.

Alanwent away in a state of growing dissatisfaction.He knew perfectlywellthathehadshirkedtheonequestionhereallywishedtoask.Hewantedtosay:"HasIsobeleveraskedyouformoneyforWinnie?"Hedidn'tsayitbecausehewasafraidthatJanemightnotliewellenoughtodeceivehim.

Buthewasworried.Janewaspoor.Heknewshewaspoor.Shemustn't-mustn'tdenudeherself.Hemadeuphismind to speak to Isobel. Isobelwas calmandreassuring.Ofcourseshewouldn'tletJanespendmorethanshecouldafford.

AmonthlaterJanedied.

Itwasinfluenza,followedbypneumonia.ShemadeAlanEverardherexecutorandleftallshehadtoWinnie.Butitwasn'tverymuch.

ItwasAlan's task togo throughJane'spapers.She lefta record there thatwasclear to follow - numerous evidences of acts of kindness, begging letters,gratefulletters.

Andlastly,hefoundherdiary.Withitwasascrapofpaper:"TobereadaftermydeathbyAlanEverard.Hehasoftenreproachedmewithnotspeakingthetruth.Thetruthisallhere."

Sohecame toknowat last, finding theoneplacewhere Janehaddared tobehonest.Itwasarecord,verysimpleandunforced,ofherloveforhim.

Therewas very little sentiment about it - no fine language. But therewas no

blinkingoffacts.

"Iknowyouareoftenirritatedbyme,"shehadwritten."EverythingIdoorsayseemstomakeyouangrysometimes.Idonotknowwhythisshouldbe,forItrysohardtopleaseyou;butIdobelieve,allthesame,thatImeansomethingrealtoyou.Oneisn'tangrywiththepeoplewhodon'tcount."

ItwasnotJane'sfaultthatAlanfoundothermatters.Janewasloyal-butshewasalso untidy; she filled her drawers too full. She had, shortly before her death,burnedcarefullyall Isobel's letters.TheoneAlan foundwaswedgedbehindadrawer. When he had read it, the meaning of certain cabalistic signs on thecounterfoilsofJane'schequebookbecamecleartohim.InthisparticularletterIsobelhadhardlytroubledtokeepupthepretenceofthemoneybeingrequiredforWinnie.

Alansatinfrontofthedeskstaringwithunseeingeyesoutofthewindowforalongtime.Finallyheslippedthechequebookintohispocketandlefttheflat.HewalkedbacktoChelsea,consciousofanangerthatgrewrapidlystronger.

Isobelwasoutwhenhegotback,andhewassorry.Hehadsoclearlyinhismindwhat he wanted to say. Instead, he went up to the studio and pulled out theunfinished portrait of Jane.He set it on an easel near the portrait of Isobel inpinksatin.

TheLemprièrewomanhadbeenright:therewaslifeinJane'sportrait.Helookedather,theeagereyes,thebeautythathehadtriedsounsuccessfullytodenyher.ThatwasJane - thealiveness,more thananythingelse,wasJane.Shewas,hethought, themostalivepersonhehadevermet,somuchso, thatevennowhecouldnotthinkofherasdead.

Andhe thoughtofhisotherpictures -Color,Romance,SirRufusHerschman.Theyhadall,inaway,beenpicturesofJane.Shehadkindledthesparkforeachoneofthem-hadsenthimawayfumingandfretting-toshowher!Andnow?Janewasdead.Wouldheeverpaintapicture-arealpicture-again?Helookedagainattheeagerfaceonthecanvas.Perhaps.Janewasn'tveryfaraway.

A sound made him wheel round. Isobel had come into the studio. She wasdressedfordinnerinastraightwhitegownthatshowedupthepuregoldofherhair.

She stopped dead and checked thewords on her lips. Eyeing himwarily, shewentovertothedivanandsatdown.Shehadeveryappearanceofcalm.

Alantookthechequebookfromhispocket.

"I'vebeengoingthroughJane'spapers."

"Yes?"

Hetriedtoimitatehercalm,tokeephisvoicefromshaking.

"Forthelastfouryearsshe'sbeensupplyingyouwithmoney."

"Yes.ForWinnie."

"No,notforWinnie,"shoutedEverard."Youpretended,bothofyou,thatitwasforWinnie,butyoubothknewthatthatwasn'tso.DoyourealizethatJanehasbeensellinghersecurities,livingfromhandtomouth,tosupplyyouwithclothes-clothesthatyoudidn'treallyneed?"

Isobelnevertookhereyesfromhisface.ShesettledherbodymorecomfortablyonthecushionsasawhitePersiancatmightdo.

"I can't help it if Jane denuded herselfmore than she should have done," shesaid."Isupposedshecouldaffordthemoney.Shewasalwayscrazyaboutyou-Icouldseethat,ofcourse.Somewiveswouldhavekickedupafussaboutthewayyouwerealwaysrushingofftoseeher,andspendinghoursthere.Ididn't."

"No,"saidAlan,verywhiteintheface."Youmadeherpayinstead."

"Youaresayingveryoffensivethings,Alan.Becareful."

"Aren'ttheytrue?WhydidyoufinditsoeasytogetmoneyoutofJane?"

"Notforloveofme,certainly.Itmusthavebeenforloveofyou."

"That'sjustwhatitwas,"saidAlansimply."Shepaidformyfreedom-freedomtoworkinmyownway.Solongasyouhadasufficiencyofmoney,you'dleavemealone-notbadgermetopaintacrowdofawfulwomen."

Isobelsaidnothing.

"Well?"criedAlanangrily.

Herquiescenceinfuriatedhim.

Isobelwaslookingatthefloor.Presentlysheraisedherheadandsaidquietly:

"Comehere,Alan."

Shetouchedthedivanatherside.Uneasily,unwillingly,hecameandsatthere,

notlookingather.Butheknewthathewasafraid.

"Alan,"saidIsobelpresently.

"Well?"

Hewasirritable,nervous.

"All that you saymay be true. It doesn'tmatter. I'm like that. Iwant things -clothes,money,you.Jane'sdead,Alan."

"Whatdoyoumean?"

"Jane's dead. You belong to me altogether now. You never did before - notquite."

He looked at her - saw the light in her eyes, acquisitive, possessive - wasrevoltedyetfascinated.

"Nowyoushallbeallmine."

HeunderstoodIsobelthenashehadneverunderstoodherbefore.

"Youwantmeasaslave?I'mtopaintwhatyoutellmetopaint,liveasyoutellmetolive,bedraggedatyourchariotwheels."

"Putitlikethatifyouplease.Whatarewords?"

He feltherarms roundhisneck,white, smooth, firmasawall.Wordsdancedthrough his brain. "Awall aswhite asmilk."Already hewas inside thewall.Couldhestillescape?Didhewanttoescape?

Heheardhervoicecloseagainsthisear-poppyandmandragora.

"Whatelse is there to live for? Isn't thisenough?Love-happiness - success -love-"

Thewallwas growing up all around him now - "the curtain soft as silk," thecurtainwrappinghimround,stiflinghimalittle,butsosoft,sosweet!Nowtheyweredriftingtogether,atpeace,outonthecrystalsea.Thewallwasveryhighnow,shuttingoutallthoseotherthings-thosedangerous,disturbingthingsthathurt-thatalwayshurt.Outontheseaofcrystal,thegoldenapplebetweentheirhands.

ThelightfadedfromJane'spicture.

THEMYSTERYOFTHEBAGHDADCHEST

The words made a catchy headline, and I said as much to my friend,Hercule Poirot. I knew none of the parties. My interest was merely thedispassionateoneofthemaninthestreet.Poirotagreed.

"Yes,ithasaflavoroftheOriental,ofthemysterious.ThechestmayverywellhavebeenashamJacobeanonefromtheTottenhamCourtRoad;nonethe less the reporter who thought of naming it the Baghdad Chest washappily inspired. The word 'mystery' is also thoughtfully placed injuxtaposition, though I understand there is very little mystery about thecase."

"Exactly.Itisallratherhorribleandmacabre,butitisnotmysterious."

"Horribleandmacabre,"repeatedPoirotthoughtfully.

"Thewhole idea is revolting," Isaid, rising tomyfeetandpacingupanddowntheroom."Themurdererkillsthisman-hisfriend-shoveshimintothechest,andhalfanhourlaterisdancinginthatsameroomwiththewifeofhisvictim.Think!Ifshehadimaginedforonemoment-"

"True," said Poirot thoughtfully. "That much-vaunted possession, awoman'sintuition-itdoesnotseemtohavebeenworking."

"Thepartyseemstohavegoneoffverymerrily,''Isaidwithaslightshiver."Andallthattime,astheydancedandplayedpoker,therewasadeadmanintheroomwiththem.Onecouldwriteaplayaboutsuchanidea."

"Ithasbeendone,"saidPoirot."Butconsoleyourself,Hastings,"headdedkindly. "Because a theme has been used once, there is no reasonwhy itshouldnotbeusedagain.Composeyourdrama."

Ihadpickedupthepaperandwasstudyingtheratherblurredreproductionofaphotograph.

"Shemustbeabeautifulwoman,"Isaidslowly."Evenfromthis,onegetsanidea."

Belowthepicturerantheinscription:

ArecentportraitofMrs.Clayton,

thewifeofthemurderedman

Poirottookthepaperfromme.

"Yes,"hesaid."Sheisbeautiful.Doubtlesssheisof thoseborntotroublethesoulsofmen."

Hehandedthepaperbacktomewithasigh.

"Dieu merci, I am not of an ardent temperament. It has saved me frommanyembarrassments.Iamdulythankful."

Idonot remember thatwediscussed thecasefurther.Poirotdisplayednospecial interest in itat the time.Thefactsweresoclear,andtherewassolittleambiguityaboutthem,thatdiscussionseemedmerelyfutile.

Mr.andMrs.ClaytonandMajorRichwerefriendsoffairlylongstanding.On theday inquestion, the tenthofMarch, theClaytonshadacceptedaninvitation to spend the evening with Major Rich. At about seven-thirty,however,Claytonexplainedtoanotherfriend,aMajorCurtiss,withwhomhewashavingadrink,thathehadbeenunexpectedlycalledtoScotlandandwasleavingbytheeighto'clocktrain.

"I'll just have time to drop in and explain to old Jack,"went onClayton."Margueritaisgoing,ofcourse.I'msorryaboutit,butJackwillunderstandhowitis."

Mr.Claytonwas as good as hisword.He arrived atMajorRich's roomsabout twenty toeight.Themajorwasoutat the time,buthismanservant,who knew Mr. Clayton well, suggested that he come in and wait. Mr.Claytonsaid thathehadnot time,but thathewouldcome inandwriteanote.Headdedthathewasonhiswaytocatchatrain.

Thevaletaccordinglyshowedhimintothesitting-room.

AboutfiveminuteslaterMajorRich,whomusthavelethimselfinwithoutthevalethearinghim,openedthedoorofthesitting-room,calledhismanand told him to go out and get some cigarettes. On his return the manbrought them to hismaster,whowas then alone in the sitting-room.ThemannaturallyconcludedthatMr.Claytonhadleft.

Theguestsarrivedshortlyafterwards.TheycomprisedMrs.Clayton,Major

CurtissandaMr.andMrs.Spence.Theeveningwasspentdancingtothephonographandplayingpoker.Theguestsleftshortlyaftermidnight.

The followingmorning, on coming to do the sitting-room, the valet wasstartled to findadeepstaindiscoloring thecarpetbelowand in frontofapieceoffurniturewhichMajorRichhadbroughtfromtheEastandwhichwascalledtheBaghdadChest.

Instinctively the valet lifted the lid of the chest andwas horrified to findinsidethedoubled-upbodyofamanwhohadbeenstabbedtotheheart.

Terrified,themanranoutoftheflatandfetchedthenearestpoliceman.ThedeadmanprovedtobeMr.Clayton.ThearrestofMajorRichfollowedveryshortly afterward. Themajor's defense, it was understood, consisted of asturdy denial of everything. He had not seenMr. Clayton the precedingeveningandthefirsthehadheardofhisgoingtoScotlandhadbeenfromMrs.Clayton.

Suchwerethebaldfactsofthecase.Innuendoesandsuggestionsnaturallyabounded. The close friendship and intimacy of Major Rich and Mrs.Clayton were so stressed that only a fool could fail to read between thelines.Themotiveforthecrimewasplainlyindicated.

Long experience has taughtme tomake allowance for baseless calumny.Themotive suggestedmight, forall theevidence,beentirelynonexistent.Somequiteotherreasonsmighthaveprecipitated the issue.Butone thingdidstandoutclearly-thatRichwasthemurderer.

AsIsay,themattermighthaverestedthere,haditnothappenedthatPoirotandIweredueatapartygivenbyLadyChattertonthatnight.

Poirot, whilst bemoaning social engagements and declaring a passion forsolitude,reallyenjoyedtheseaffairsenormously.Tobemadeafussofandtreatedasalionsuitedhimdowntotheground.

Onoccasionshepositivelypurred! Ihave seenhimblandly receiving themost outrageous compliments as no more than his due, and uttering themostblatantlyconceitedremarks,suchasIcanhardlybeartosetdown.

Sometimeshewouldarguewithmeonthesubject.

"But, my friend, I am not an Anglo-Saxon. Why should I play thehypocrite?Si,si,thatiswhatyoudo,allofyou.Theairmanwhohasmade

a difficult flight, the tennis champion – they look down their noses, theymutter inaudibly that 'it is nothing.' But do they really think thatthemselves?Notforamoment.Theywouldadmiretheexploitinsomeoneelse. So, being reasonable men, they admire it in themselves. But theirtrainingprevents themfromsayingso.Me,Iamnot like that.Thetalentsthat Ipossess- Iwouldsalute theminanother.As ithappens, inmyownparticularline,thereisnoonetotouchme.C'estdommage,asitis,IadmitfreelyandwithoutthehypocrisythatIamagreatman.Ihavetheorder,themethod and the psychology in an unusual degree. I am, in fact, HerculePoirot!Why should I turn red and stammer andmutter intomy chin thatreallyIamverystupid?Itwouldnotbetrue."

"ThereiscertainlyonlyoneHerculePoirot,"Iagreed-notwithoutaspiceofmalice,ofwhich,fortunately,Poirotremainedquiteoblivious.

LadyChattertonwasoneofPoirot'smostardentadmirers.StartingfromthemysteriousconductofaPekingese,hehadunraveledachainwhichledtoanoted burglar and housebreaker. Lady Chatterton had been loud in hispraiseseversince.

ToseePoirotatapartywasagreatsight.Hisfaultlesseveningclothes,theexquisite set of hiswhite tie, the exact symmetry of his hair parting, thesheen of pomade on his hair, and the tortured splendor of his famousmustaches-allcombinedtopainttheperfectpictureofaninveteratedandy.Itwashard,atthesemoments,totakethelittlemanseriously.

Itwasabouthalf-pastelevenwhenLadyChatterton,bearingdownuponus,whiskedPoirotneatlyoutofanadmiringgroup,andcarriedhimoff-Ineedhardlysay,withmyselfintow.

"Iwantyoutogointomylittleroomupstairs,"saidLadyChattertonratherbreathlessly as soon as shewas out of earshot of her other guests. "Youknowwhereitis,M.Poirot.You'llfindsomeonetherewhoneedsyourhelpverybadly-andyouwillhelpher,Iknow.She'soneofmydearestfriends-sodon'tsayno."

Energeticallyleadingthewayasshetalked,LadyChattertonflungopenadoor,exclaimingasshedidso,"I'vegothim,Margueritadarling.Andhe'lldoanythingyouwant.You'llhelpMrs.Clayton,won'tyou,M.Poirot?"

Andtakingtheanswerforgranted,shewithdrewwiththesameenergythatcharacterizedallhermovements.

Mrs.Claytonhadbeensittinginachairbythewindow.Sherosenowandcometowardus.Dressedindeepmourning, thedullblackshowedupherfaircoloring.Shewasasingularlylovelywoman,andtherewasaboutherasimplechildlikecandorwhichmadehercharmquitirresistible.

"AliceChatterton is so kind," she said. "She arranged this. She said youwouldhelpme,M.Poirot.OfcourseIdon'tknowwhetheryouwillornot-butIhopeyouwill."

She had held out her hand and Poirot had taken it.He held it now for amomentortwowhilehestoodscrutinizingherclosely.Therewasnothingill-bredinhismannerofdoingit.Itwasmorethekindbutsearchinglookthatafamousconsultantgivesanewpatientasthelatterisusheredintohispresence.

"Areyousure,madame,"hesaidatlast,"thatIcanhelpyou?"

"Alicesaysso."

"Yes,butIamaskingyou,madame."

Alittleflushrosetohercheeks.

"Idon'tknowwhatyoumean."

"Whatisit,madame,thatyouwantmetodo?"

"You-you-knowwhoIam?"sheasked.

"Assuredly."

"ThenyoucanguesswhatitisIamaskingyoutodo,M.Poirot-CaptainHastings"-Iwasgratifiedthatsherealizedmyidentity-"MajorRichdidnotkillmyhusband."

"Whynot?"

"Ibegyourpardon?"

Poirotsmiledatherslightdiscomfiture.

"Isaid,'Whynot?'"herepeated.

"I'mnotsurethatIunderstand."

"Yetitisverysimple.Thepolice-thelawyers-theywillallaskthesamequestion:Why didMajorRich killM.Clayton? I ask the opposite. I ask

you,madame,whydidMajorRichnotkillMajorClayton?"

"Youmean -why I'm so sure?Well, but I know. I knowMajor Rich sowell."

"YouknowMajorRichsowell,"repeatedPoirottonelessly.

Thecolorflamedintohercheeks.

"Yes,that'swhatthey'llsay-whatthey'llthink!Oh,Iknow!"

"C'est vrai. That is what they will ask you about - how well you knewMajorRich.Perhapsyouwillspeakthetruth,perhapsyouwilllie.Itisverynecessaryforawomantoliesometimes.Womenmustdefendthemselves-and the lie, it is a goodweapon.But there are three people,madame, towhom a woman should speak the truth. To her Father Confessor, to herhairdresserandtoherprivatedetective-ifshetrustshim.Doyoutrustme,madame?"

MargueritaClaytondrewadeepbreath."Yes,"shesaid."Ido.Imust,"sheaddedratherchildishly.

"Then,howwelldoyouknowMajorRich?"

She looked at him for a moment in silence, then she raised her chindefiantly.

"Iwillansweryourquestion.IlovedJackfromthefirstmomentIsawhim-twoyearsago.LatelyIthink-Ibelieve-hehascometoloveme.Buthehasneversaidso."

"Épatant!'' saidPoirot. "Youhavesavedmeagoodquarterofanhourbycoming to the point without beating the bush. You have the good sense.Nowyourhusband-didhesuspectyourfeelings?"

"Idon'tknow,"saidMargueritaslowly."Ithoughtlately-thathemight.Hismannerhasbeendifferent.Butthatmayhavebeenmerelymyfancy."

"Nobodyelseknew?"

"Idonotthinkso."

"And-pardonme,madame-youdidnotloveyourhusband?"

There were, I think, very few women who would have answered thatquestion as simply as thiswoman did. Theywould have tried to explain

theirfeelings.

MarueritaClaytonsaidquitesimply:

"No."

"Bien. Now we know where we are. According to you, madame,MajorRichdidnotkillyourhusband,butyourealizethatalltheevidencepointsto his having done so. Are you aware, privately, of any flaw in thatevidence?"

"No.Iknownothing."

"WhendidyourhusbandfirstinformyouofhisvisittoScotland?"

"Justafterlunch.Hesaiditwasabore,buthe'dhavetogo.Somethingtodowithlandvalues,hesaiditwas."

"Andafterthat?"

"Hewentout-tohisclub,Ithink.I-Ididn'tseehimagain."

"NowastoMajorRich-whatwashismannerthatevening?Justasusual?"

"Yes,Ithinkso."

"Youarenotsure?"

Margueritawrinkledherbrows.

"Hewasalittleconstrained.Withme–notwiththeothers.ButIthoughtIknew why that was. You understand? I am sure the constraint or - or -absent-mindedness perhaps describes it better - had nothing to do withEdward.Hewas surprised tohear thatEdwardhadgone toScotland,butnotundulyso."

"Andnothingelseunusualoccurstoyouinconnectionwiththatevening?"

Margueritathought.

"No,nothingwhatever."

"You-noticedthechest?"

Sheshookherheadwithalittleshiver.

"Idon'tevenrememberit-orwhatitwaslike.Weplayedpokermostoftheevening."

"Whowon?"

"MajorRich. Ihadverybad luck,andsodidMajorCurtiss.TheSpenceswonalittle,butMajorRichwasthechiefwinner."

"Thepartybrokeup-when?"

"Abouthalf-pasttwelve,Ithink.Wealllefttogether."

"Ah!"

Poirotremainedsilent,lostinthought.

"IwishIcouldbemorehelpful toyou,"saidMrs.Clayton."Iseemtobeabletotellyousolittle."

"Aboutthepresent-yes.Whataboutthepast,madame?"

"Thepast?"

"Yes.Havetherenotbeenincidents?"

Sheflushed.

"Youmeanthatdreadfullittlemanwhoshothimself.Itwasn'tmyfault,M.Poirot.Indeeditwasn't."

"ItwasnotpreciselyofthatincidentthatIwasthinking."

"Thatridiculousduel?ButItaliansdofightduels.Iwassothankfulthemanwasn'tkilled."

"Itmusthavebeenarelieftoyou,"agreedPoirotgravely.

Shewaslookingathimdoubtfully.Heroseandtookherhandinhis.

"Ishallnotfightaduelforyou,madame,"hesaid."ButIwilldowhatyouhaveaskedme.Iwilldiscoverthetruth.Andletushopethatyourinstinctsarecorrect-thatthetruthwillhelpandnotharmyou."

OurfirstinterviewwaswithMajorCurtiss.Hewasamanofaboutforty,ofsoldierlybuild,withverydarkhairandabronzedface.HehadknowntheClaytons for some years and Major Rich also. He confirmed the pressreports.

Clayton and he had had a drink together at the club just before half-pastseven,andClaytonhadthenannouncedhisintentionoflookinginonMajor

RichonhiswaytoEuston.

"WhatwasMr.Clayton'smanner?Washedepressedorcheerful?"

Themajorconsidered.Hewasaslow-spokenman.

"Seemedinfairlygoodspirits,"hesaidatlast.

"HesaidnothingaboutbeingonbadtermswithMajorRich?''

"GoodLord,no.Theywerepals."

"Hedidn'tobjecttohiswife'sfriendshipwithMajorRich?"

Themajorbecameveryredintheface.

"You'vebeenreadingthosedamnednewspapers,withtalltalesandlies.Ofcoursehedidn'tobject.Why,hesaidtome:'Marguerita'sgoing,ofcourse.'"

"Isee.Nowduringtheevening-themannerofMajorRich-wasthatmuchasusual?"

"Ididn'tnoticeanydifference."

"Andmadame?She,too,wasasusual?"

"Well,"he reflected, "now I come to thinkof it, shewasabitquiet.Youknow,thoughtfulandfaraway."

"Whoarrivedfirst?"

"TheSpences.Theywere therewhen I got there.As amatter of fact, I'dcalled round forMrs. Clayton, but found she'd already started. So I gotthereabitlate."

"Andhowdidyouamuseyourselves?Youdanced?Youplayedthecards?"

"Abitofboth.Dancedfirstofall."

"Therewerefiveofyou?"

"Yes,butthat'sallright,becauseIdon'tdance.Iputontherecordsandtheothersdanced."

"Whodancedmostwithwhom?"

"Well,asamatteroffacttheSpenceslikedancingtogether.They'vegotasortofcrazeonfancystepsandallthat."

"SothatMrs.ClaytondancedmostlywithMajorRich?"

"That'saboutit."

"Andthenyouplayedpoker?"

"Yes."

"Andwhendidyouleave?"

"Oh,quiteearly.Alittleaftermidnight."

"Didyouallleavetogether?"

"Yes.Asamatteroffact,wesharedataxi,droppedMrs.Claytonfirst,thenme,andtheSpencestookitontoKensington."

OurnextvisitwastoMr.andMrs.Spence.

OnlyMrs.Spencewasathome,butheraccountoftheeveningtalliedwiththatofMajorCurtissexcept thatshedisplayedaslightacidityconcerningMajorRich'sluckatcards.

Earlier in the morning Poirot had had a telephone conversation withInspector Japp of Scotland Yard. As a result we arrived atMajor Rich'sroomsandfoundhismanservant,Burgoyne,expectingus.

Thevalet'sevidencewasverypreciseandclear.

Mr.Claytonhadarrivedattwentyminutestoeight.UnluckilyMajorRichhad just thatveryminutegoneout.Mr.Claytonhad said thathe couldn'twait, as he had to catch a train, but he would just scrawl a note. Heaccordinglywentintothesitting-roomtodoso.Burgoynehadnotactuallyheardhismastercomein,ashewasrunningthebath,andMajorRich,ofcourse, let himself in with his own key. In his opinion it was about tenminutes later thatMajorRich called him and sent him out for cigarettes.No, he has not gone into the sitting-room.Major Rich had stood in thedoorway.Hehadreturnedwiththecigarettesfiveminuteslaterandonthisoccasionhehasgoneintothesitting-room,whichwasthenempty,saveforhis master, who was standing by the window smoking. His master hasinquiredifhisbathwerereadyandonbeingtoldiswashadproceededtotakeit.He,Burgoyne,hadnotmentionedMr.Clayton,asheassumedthathis master had found Mr. Clayton there and let him out himself. Hismaster’smanner had been precisely the same as usual.He had taken his

bath, changed, and shortly after,Mr. andMrs. Spence had arrived, to befollowedbyMajorCurtissandMrs.Clayton.

It had not occurred to him, Burgoyne explained, thatMr. Claytonmighthaveleftbeforehismaster'sreturn.Todoso,Mr.Claytonwouldhavehadtobangthefrontdoorbehindhimandthatthevaletwassurehewouldhaveheard.

Stillinthesameimpersonalmanner,Burgoyneproceededtohisfindingofthebody.For thefirst timemyattentionwasdirected to thefatalchest. Itwas a good-sized piece of furniture standing against thewall next to thephonograph cabinet. It was made of some dark wood and plentifullystuddedwith brass nails. The lid opened simply enough. I looked in andshivered.Thoughwellscrubbed,ominousstainsremained.

Suddenly Poirot uttered an exclamation. "Those holes there - they arecurious.Onewouldsaythattheyhadbeennewlymade."

Theholesinquestionwereatthebackofthechestagainstthewall.Therewere three or four of them. They were about a quarter of an inch indiameter-andcertainlyhadtheeffectofhavingbeenfreshlymade.

Poirotbentdowntoexaminethem,lookinginquiringlyatthevalet.

"It'scertainlycurious,sir. Idon't remembereverseeing thoseholes in thepast,thoughmaybeIwouldn'tnoticethem."

"Itmakesnomatter,"saidPoirot.

Closing the lid of the chest, he stepped back into the room until hewasstanding with his back against the window. Then he suddenly asked aquestion.

"Tellme,"hesaid."Whenyoubroughtthecigarettesintoyourmasterthatnight,wastherenotsomethingoutofplaceintheroom?"

Burgoyne hesitated for a minute, then with some slight reluctance hereplied,"It'soddyoursaying that,sir.Nowyoucometomention it, therewas.Thatscreentherethatcutsoffthedraftfromthebedroomdoor-itwasmovedabitmoretotheleft."

"Likethis?"

Poirotdartednimblyforwardandpulledat thescreen. Itwasahandsome

affairofpaintedleather.Italreadyslightlyobscuredtheviewofthechest,andasPoirotadjustedit,ithidthechestaltogether.

"That'sright,sir,"saidthevalet."Itwaslikethat."

"Andthenextmorning?"

"Itwasstilllikethat.Iremember.ImoveditawayanditwasthenIsawthestain.Thecarpet'sgonetobecleaned,sir.That'swhytheboardsarebare."

Poirotnodded.

"Isee,"hesaid."Ithankyou."

Heplacedacrisppieceofpaperinthevalet'spalm.

"Thankyou,sir."

"Poirot,"Isaidwhenwewereoutinthestreet,"thatpointaboutthescreen-isthatapointhelpfultoRich?"

"Itisafurtherpointagainsthim,"saidPoirotruefully."Thescreenhidthechestfromtheroom.Italsohidthestainonthecarpet.Soonerorlaterthebloodwasboundtosoakthroughthewoodandstainthecarpet.Thescreenwouldpreventdiscoveryforthemoment.Yes-butthereissomethingtherethatIdonotunderstand.Thevalet,Hastings,thevalet."

"Whataboutthevalet?Heseemedamostintelligentfellow."

"Asyousay,mostintelligent.Isitcredible,then,thatMajorRichfailedtorealize that the valet would certainly discover the body in the morning?Immediately after the deed he had no time for anything - granted. Heshoves the body into the chest, pulls the screen in front of it and goesthrough the evening hoping for the best. But after the guests are gone?Surely,thenisthetimetodisposeofthebody."

"Perhapshehopedthevaletwouldn'tnoticethestain?"

"That,monami,isabsurd.Astainedcarpetisthefirstthingagoodservantwouldbeboundtonotice.AndMajorRich,hegoestobedandsnorestherecomfortablyanddoesnothingatallaboutthematter.Veryremarkableandinteresting,that."

"Curtissmighthaveseenthestainswhenhewaschangingtherecordsthenightbefore?"Isuggested.

"Thatisunlikely.Thescreenwouldthrowdeepshadowjustthere.No,butIbegintosee.Yes,dimlyIbegintosee."

"Seewhat?"Iaskedeagerly.

"Thepossibilities,shallwesay,ofanalternativeexplanation.Ournextvisitmaythrowlightonthings."

Ournextvisitwastothedoctorwhohadexaminedthebody.Hisevidencewas a mere recapitulation of what he had already given at the inquest.Deceasedhadbeenstabbedtotheheartwithlongthinknifesomethinglikea stiletto. The knife had been left in the wound. Death had beeninstantaneous.TheknifewasthepropertyofMajorRichandusuallylayonhiswritingtable.Therewerenofingerprintsonit,thedoctorunderstood.Ithadbeeneitherwipedorheldinahandkerchief.Asregardstime,anytimebetweensevenandeightseemedindicated.

"Hecouldnot,forinstance,havebeenkilledaftermidnight?"askedPoirot.

"No.That I can say.Teno'clock at theoutside - but seven-thirty to eightseemsclearlyindicated."

"There is a second hypothesis possible," Poirot saidwhenwewere backhome."Iwonderifyouseeit,Hastings.Tomeitisveryplain,andIonlyneedonepointtoclearupthematterforgoodandall."

"It'snogood,"Isaid."I'mnotthere."

"Butmakeaneffort,Hastings.Makeaneffort.''

"Very well," I said. "At seven-forty Clayton is alive and well. The lastpersontoseehimaliveisRich-"

"Soweassume."

"Well,isn'titso?"

"Youforget,monami,thatMajorRichdeniesthat.HestatesexplicitlythatClaytonhadgonewhenhecamein."

"ButthevaletsaysthathewouldhaveheardClaytonleavebecauseofthebang of the door. And also, if Clayton had left, when did he return?Hecouldn'thavereturnedaftermidnightbecausethedoctorsayspositivelythathe was dead at least two hours before that. That only leaves onealternative."

"Yes,monami?"saidPoirot.

"That in thefiveminutesClaytonwasalone in thesittingroom,someoneelsecame inandkilledhim.But therewehave the sameobjection.Onlysomeonewithakeycouldcomeinwithoutthevalet'sknowing,andinthesameway themurdereron leavingwouldhavehad tobang thedoor,andthatagainthevaletwouldhaveheard."

"Exactly,"saidPoirot."Andtherefore-"

"Andtherefore-nothing,"Isaid."Icanseenoothersolution."

"Itisapity,"murmuredPoirot."Anditisreallysoexceedinglysimple-astheclearblueeyesofMadameClayton."

"Youreallybelieve-"

"I believenothing - until I havegot proof.One little proofwill convinceme."

HetookupthetelephoneandcalledJappatScotlandYard.

Twenty minutes later we were standing before a little heap of assortedobjects laid out on a table. They were the contents of the dead man'spockets.

There was a handkerchief, a handful of loose change, a pocketbookcontainingthreepoundstenshillings,acoupleofbillsandawornsnapshotofMargueritaClayton.Therewasalsoapocket-knife,agoldpencilandacumbersomewoodentool.

ItwasonthislatterthatPoirotswooped.Heunscreweditandseveralsmallbladesfellout.

"Yousee,Hastings,agimletandalltherestofit.Ah!itwouldbeamatterofaveryfewminutestoboreafewholesinthechestwiththis.'

"Thoseholeswesaw?"

"Precisely."

"YoumeanitwasClaytonwhoboredthemhimself?''

"Maisoui,maisoui!Whatdidtheysuggesttoyou,thoseholes?Theywerenottoseethrough,becausetheywereatthebackofthechest.Whatwerethey for, then?Clearly for air?Butyoudonotmakeair holes for adead

body, so clearly they were not made by themurderer. They suggest onething-andonethingonly-thatamanwasgoingtohideinthatchest.Andat once, on that hypothesis, things become intelligible. Mr. Clayton isjealousofhiswifeandRich.Heplaystheold,oldtrickofpretendingtogoaway. Hewatches Rich go out, then he gains admission, is left alone towriteanote,quicklyboresthoseholesandhidesinsidethechest.Hiswifeis coming there that night.PossiblyRichwill put theothers off, possiblyshe will remain after the others have gone, or pretend to go and return.Whatever it is, Clayton will know. Anything is preferable to the ghastlytormentofsuspicionheisenduring."

"Then youmean thatRich killed himafter the others had gone?But thedoctorsaidthatwasimpossible.''

"Exactly. So you see, Hastings, he must have been killed during theevening."

"Buteveryonewasintheroom!"

"Precisely,"saidPoirotgravely."Youseethebeautyofthat?'Everyonewasintheroom.'Whatanalibi!Whatsangfroid-whatnerve-whataudacity!''

"Istilldon'tunderstand."

"Whowentbehind thatscreen towindup thephonographandchange therecords?Thephonographand thechestweresidebyside, remember.Theothersaredancing-thephonographisplaying.Andthemanwhodoesnotdanceliftsthelidofthechestandthruststheknifehehasjustslippedintohissleevedeepintothebodyofthemanwhowashidingthere."

"Impossible!Themanwouldcryout."

"Notifheweredruggedfirst?"

"Drugged?"

"Yes.WhodidClaytonhaveadrinkwithatseven-thirty?Ah!Nowyousee.Curtiss! Curtiss has inflamed Clayton's mind with suspicions against hiswife and Rich. Curtiss suggests this plan - the visit to Scotland, theconcealmentinthechest,thefinaltouchofmovingthescreen.NotsothatClaytoncanraisethelidalittleandgetrelief-no,sothathe,Curtiss,canraisethatlidunobserved.TheplanisCurtiss',andobservethebeautyofit,Hastings. IfRichhadobserved the screenwasout of place andmoved it

back-well,noharmisdone.Hecanmakeanotherplan.Claytonhidesinthechest, themildnarcotic thatCurtisshadadministered takeseffect.Hesinks into unconsciousness. Curtiss lifts up the lid and strikes - and thephonographgoesonplayingWalkingMyBabyBackHome."

Ifoundmyvoice."Why?Butwhy?"

Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.

"Whydidamanshoothimself?WhydidtwoItaliansfightaduel?Curtissisofadarkpassionatetemperament.HewantedMargueritaClayton.WithherhusbandandRichoutoftheway,shewould,orsohethought,turntohim."

Headdedmusingly:

"Thesesimplechildlikewomen...theyareverydangerous.ButmonDieu!whatanartisticmasterpiece!Itgoestomyhearttohangamanlikethat.Imaybe a geniusmyself, but I amcapable of recognizinggenius in otherpeople. A perfect murder, mon ami. I, Hercule Poirot, say it to you. Aperfectmurder.Épatant!''

WHILETHELIGHTLASTS

TheFordcarbumpedfromruttorut,andthehotAfricansunpoureddownunmercifully.Oneithersideoftheso-calledroadstretchedanunbrokenlineoftreesandscrub,risingandfallingingentlyundulatinglinesasfarastheeye could reach, the coloring a soft, deep yellow-green, thewhole effectlanguorous and strangely quiet. Few birds stirred the slumbering silence.Once a snake wriggled across the road in front of the car, escaping thedriver'seffortsatdestructionwithsinuousease.Onceanativesteppedoutfromthebush,dignifiedandupright,behindhimawomanwithan infantbound closely to her broad back and a complete household equipment,includingafryingpan,balancedmagnificentlyonherhead.

AllthesethingsGeorgeCrozierhadnotfailedtopointouttohiswife,whohad answered him with a monosyllabic lack of attention which irritatedhim.

"Thinkingof that fellow,"hededucedwrathfully. Itwas thus that hewaswonttoalludeinhisownmindtoDeirdreCrozier'sfirsthusband,killedin

thefirstyearofthewar.Killed,too,inthecampaignagainstGermanWestAfrica.Naturalsheshould,perhaps-hestoleaglanceather,herfairness,thepinkandwhitesmoothnessofhercheek,theroundedlinesofherfigure- rather more rounded perhaps than they had been in those far-off dayswhenshehadpassivelypermittedhimtobecomeengagedtoher,andthen,inthatfirstemotionalscareofwar,hadabruptlycasthimasideandmadeawarweddingofitwiththatlean,sunburnedboyloverofhers,TimNugent.

Well,well, thefellowwasdead-gallantlydead-andhe,GeorgeCrozier,hadmarried thegirlhehadalwaysmeant tomarry.Shewasfondofhim,too;howcouldshehelpitwhenhewasreadytogratifyhereverywishandhadthemoneytodoit,too!Hereflectedwithsomecomplacencyonhislastgift toher,atKimberley,where,owingtohisfriendshipwithsomeof thedirectorsofDeBeers,hehadbeenabletopurchaseadiamondwhich,intheordinaryway,wouldnothavebeeninthemarket,astonenotremarkableastosize,butofaveryexquisiteandrareshade,apeculiardeepamber,almostoldgold,adiamondsuchasyoumightnotfindinahundredyears.Andthelook inhereyeswhenhegave it toher!Womenwereall the sameaboutdiamonds.

ThenecessityofholdingonwithbothhandstopreventhimselfbeingjerkedoutbroughtGeorgeCrozierbacktotherealities.Heejaculatedforperhapsthefourteenthtime,withthepardonableirritationofamanwhoownstwoRolls-Royce cars and who has exercised his stud on the highways ofcivilization:"GoodLord,whatacar!Whataroad!"Hewetonangrily:

"Wherethedevilisthistobaccoestate,anyway?It'soveranhoursinceweleftBulawayo."

"LostinRhodesia,"saidDeirdrelightlybetweentwoinvoluntaryleapsintotheair.

But the coffee-colored driver, appealed to, responded with the cheeringnewsthattheirdestinationwasjustroundthenextbendoftheroad.

Themanageroftheestate,Mr.Walter,waswaitingonthestooptoreceivethemwith the touch of deference due toGeorgeCrozier's prominence inUnion Tobacco. He introduced his daughter-in-law, who shepherdedDeirdre through thecool,darkeninghall toabedroombeyond,whereshecould remove the veil with which she was always careful to shield hercomplexion when motoring. As she unfastened the pits in her usualleisurely, graceful fashion, Deirdre's eyes swept round the whitewashed

ugliness of the bare room. No luxuries here, and Deirdre, who lovedcomfortasacatlovescream,shiveredalittle.Onthewallatextconfrontedher. "Whatshall itprofitaman ifhegain thewholeworldand losehis ssoul?"itdemandedofallandsundry,andDeirdre,pleasantlyconsciousthatthequestionhadnothingtodowithher, turnedtoaccompanyhershyandrathersilentguide.Shenoted,butnotintheleastmaliciously,thespreadinghips and the unbecoming cheap cotton gown. And with a glow of quietappreciationhereyesdroppedtotheexquisite,costlysimplicityofherownFrench white linen. Beautiful clothes, especially when worn by herself,rousedinherthejoyoftheartist.

Thetwomenwerewaitingforher.

"Itwon'tboreyoutocomeround,too,Mrs.Crozier?"

"Notatall.I'veneverbeenoveratobaccofactory."

TheysteppedoutintothestillRhodesianafternoon.

"Thesearetheseedlingshere;weplantthemoutasrequired.Yousee-"

The manager's voice droned on, interpolated by her husband's sharpstaccato questions - output, stamp duty, problems of colored labor. Sheceasedtolisten.

ThiswasRhodesia,thiswasthelandTimhadloved,whereheandsheweretohavegonetogetherafterthewarwasover.Ifhehadnotbeenkilled!Asalways,thebitternessofrevoltsurgedupinheratthatthought.Twoshortmonths - that was all they had had. Two months of happiness - if thatmingledraptureandpainwerehappiness.Wasloveeverhappiness?Didnota thousand torturesbeset the lover'sheart?Shehad lived intensely in thatshort space, but had she ever known the peace, the leisure, the quietcontentment of her present life? And for the first time she admitted,somewhatunwillingly,thatperhapsallhadbeenforthebest.

"Iwouldn't have liked livingouthere. Imightn't havebeenable tomakeTimhappy.Imighthavedisappointedhim.Georgelovesme,andI'mveryfondofhim,andhe'svery,verygoodtome.Why,lookatthatdiamondheboughtmeonly theotherday."And, thinkingof it,hereyelidsdroopedalittleinpurepleasure.

"Thisiswherewethreadtheleaves."Waltersledthewayintoalow,longshed.On the floorwere vast heaps of green leaves, andwhite-clad black

"boys"squattedroundthem,pickingandrejectingwithdeftfingers,sortingthemintosizes,andstringingthembymeansofprimitiveneedlesonalongline of string.Theyworkedwith a cheerful leisureliness, jesting amongstthemselves,andshowingtheirwhiteteethastheylaughed.

"Now,outhere-"

They passed through the shed into the daylight again,where the lines ofleaveshungdryinginthesun.Deirdresniffeddelicatelyatthefaint,almostimperceptiblefragrancethatfilledtheair.

Waltersledthewayintoothershedswherethetobacco,kissedbythesunintofaintyellowdiscoloration,underwentitsfurther treatment.Darkhere,withthebrownswingingmassesabove,readytofalltopowderataroughtouch. The fragrance was stronger, almost overpowering it seemed toDeirdre,andsuddenlyasortofterrorcameuponher,afearofsheknewnotwhat, that drove her from that menacing, scented obscurity out into thesunlight.Croziernotedherpallor.

"What's thematter,mydear,don'tyoufeelwell?Thesun,perhaps.Betternotcomewithusroundtheplantations?Eh?"

Walterswas solicitous.Mrs.Crozier had better go back to the house andrest.Hecalledtoamanalittledistanceaway.

"Mr.Arden-Mrs.Crozier.Mrs.Crozier'sfeelingalittledoneupwiththeheat,Arden.Justtakeherbacktothehouse,willyou?"

The momentary feeling of dizziness was passing. Deirdre walked byArden'sside.Shehadasyethardlyglancedathim.

"Deirdre!"

Herheartgavealeap,andthenstoodstill.Onlyonepersonhadeverspokenhernamelikethat,withthefaintstressonthefirstsyllablethatmadeofitacaress.

Sheturnedandstaredatthemanbyherside.Hewasburnedalmostblackbythesun,hewalkedwithalimp,andonthecheeknearerherwasalongscarwhichalteredhisexpression,butsheknewhim.

"Tim!"

For an eternity, it seemed to her, they gazed at each other, mute and

trembling,andthen,withoutknowinghoworwhy,theywereineachother'sarms.Timerolledbackforthem.Thentheydrewapartagain,andDeirdre,consciousassheputitoftheidiocyofthequestion,said:"Thenyou'renotdead?"

"No,theymusthavemistakenanotherchapforme.Iwasbadlyknockedonthe head, but I came to andmanaged to crawl into the bush.After that Idon't know what happened for months and months, but a friendly tribelookedafterme,andatlastIgotmyproperwitsagainandmanagedtogetbacktocivilization."

Hepaused."Ifoundyou'dbeenmarriedsixmonths."

Deirdrecriedout:

"Oh,Tim,understand,pleaseunderstand!Itwassoawful, theloneliness-andthepoverty.Ididn'tmindbeingpoorwithyou,butwhenIwasaloneIhadn'tthenervetostandupagainstthesordidnessofitall."

"It's all right, Deirdre; I did understand. I know you always have had ahankeringafter thefleshpots. I tookyoufromthemonce-but thesecondtime,well-mynervefailed.Iwasprettybadlybrokenup,yousee,couldhardlywalkwithoutacrutch,andthentherewasthisscar."

Sheinterruptedhimpassionately.

"DoyouthinkIwouldhavecaredforthat?"

"No,Iknowyouwouldn't.Iwasafool.Somewomendidmind,youknow.I made up my mind I'd manage to get a glimpse of you. If you lookedhappy, if I thoughtyouwerecontented tobewithCrozier -why, then I'dremaindead.Ididseeyou.Youwerejustgettingintoabigcar.Youhadonsomelovelysablefurs-thingsI'dneverbeabletogiveyouifIworkedmyfingers to thebone - and -well - you seemedhappyenough. Ihadn't thesamestrengthandcourage,thesamebeliefinmyself,thatI'dhadbeforethewar.All I could seewasmyself, broken and useless, barely able to earnenough tokeepyou -andyou lookedsobeautiful,Deirdre, suchaqueenamongstwomen,soworthytohavefursandjewelsandlovelyclothesandallthehundredandoneluxuriesCroziercouldgiveyou.That-and-well,thepain-ofseeingyoutogether,decidedme.Everyonebelievedmedead.Iwouldstaydead."

"Thepain!"repeatedDeirdreinalowvoice.

"Well,damnitall,Deirdre,ithurt!It isn't thatIblameyou.Idon't.Butithurt."

Theywerebothsilent.ThenTimraisedherfacetohisandkisseditwithanewtenderness.

"Butthat'sallovernow,sweetheart.Theonlythingtodecideishowwe'regoingtobreakittoCrozier."

"Oh!"Shedrewherselfawayabruptly."Ihadn'tthought-"ShebrokeoffasCrozierandthemanagerappearedroundtheangleofthepath.Withaswiftturnoftheheadshewhispered:

"Donothingnow.Leaveittome.Imustpreparehim.WherecouldImeetyoutomorrow?"

Nugentreflected.

"IcouldcomeintoBulawayo.HowaboutthecaféneartheStandardBank?Atthreeo'clockitwouldbeprettyempty."

Deirdre gave a brief nod of assent before turning her back on him andjoiningtheothertwomen.TimNugentlookedafterherwithafaintfrown.Somethinginhermannerpuzzledhim.

Deirdrewasverysilentduringthedrivehome.Shelteringbehindthefictionofa"touchofthesun,"shedeliberatedonhercourseofaction.Howshouldshetellhim?Howwouldhetakeit?Astrangelassitudeseemedtopossessher, andagrowingdesire topostpone the revelation as longasmightbe.Tomorrowwould be soon enough. Therewould be plenty of time beforethreeo'clock.

Thehotelwasuncomfortable.Theirroomwasonthegroundfloor,lookingoutontoaninnercourt.Deirdrestoodthateveningsniffingthestaleairandglancing distastefully at the tawdry furniture. Her mind flew to the easyluxuryofMonktonCourtamidsttheSurreypinewoods.Whenhermaidleftherat last,shewentslowlytoherjewelcase.Inthepalmofherhandthegoldendiamondreturnedherstare.

With an almost violent gesture she returned it to the case and slammeddownthelid.TomorrowmorningshewouldtellGeorge.

She slept badly. It was stifling beneath the heavy folds of the mosquitonetting.Thethrobbingdarknesswaspunctuatedbytheubiquitouspingshe

had learned to dread. She awokewhite and listless. Impossible to start ascenesoearlyintheday!

Shelayinthesmall,closeroomallthemorning,resting.Lunchtimecameuponherwithasenseofshock.Astheysatdrinkingcoffee,GeorgeCrozierproposedadrivetotheMatopos.

"Plentyoftimeifwestartatonce."

Deirdre shookher head, pleading a headache, and she thought to herself:"Thatsettlesit.Ican'trushthething.Afterall,whatdoesadaymoreorlessmatter?I'llexplaintoTim."

Shewavedgood-byetoCrozierasherattledoffinthebatteredFord.Then,glancingatherwatch,shewalkedslowlytothemeetingplace.

The café was deserted at this hour. They sat down at a little table andordered the inevitable tea thatSouthAfricadrinksat allhoursof thedayand night. Neither of them said a word till the waitress brought it andwithdrew toher fastnessbehind somepinkcurtains.ThenDeirdre lookedupandstartedasshemettheintensewatchfulnessinhiseyes.

"Deirdre,haveyoutoldhim?"

Sheshookherhead,moisteningherlips,seekingforwordsthatwouldnotcome.

"Whynot?"

"Ihaven'thadachance;therehasn'tbeentime."

Eventoherselfthewordssoundedhaltingandunconvincing.

"It'snotthat.There'ssomethingelse.Isuspectedityesterday.I'msureofittoday.Deirdre,whatisit?"

Sheshookherheaddumbly.

"There'ssomereasonwhyyoudon'twanttoleaveGeorgeCrozier,whyyoudon'twanttocomebacktome.Whatisit?"

Itwastrue.Ashesaiditsheknewit,knewitwithsuddenscorchingshame,butknewitbeyondanypossibilityofdoubt.Andstillhiseyessearchedher.

"Itisn'tthatyoulovehim!Youdon't.Butthere'ssomething."

Shethought:"Inanothermomenthe'llsee!Oh,God,don'tlethim!"

Suddenlyhisfacewhitened.

"Deirdre-isit-isitthatthere'sgoingtobea-child?"

In a flash she saw the chance he offered her. Awonderful way! Slowly,almostwithoutherownvolition,shebowedherhead.

Sheheardhisquickbreathing,thenhisvoice,ratherhighandhard.

"That-altersthings.Ididn'tknow.We'vegottofindadifferentwayout."Heleanedacrossthetableandcaughtbothherhandsinhis."Deirdre,mydarling, never think - never dream that you were in any way to blame.Whateverhappens,rememberthat.IshouldhaveclaimedyouwhenIcamebacktoEngland.Ifunkedit,soit'suptometodowhatIcantoputthingsstraightnow.Yousee?Whateverhappens,don't fret,darling.Nothinghasbeenyourfault."

He lifted first one hand, then the other to his lips. Then she was alone,staringattheuntastedtea.And,strangelyenough,itwasonlyonethingthatshe saw -agaudily illuminated texthangingonawhitewashedwall.Thewordsseemedtospringoutfromitandhurlthemselvesather."Whatshallitprofitaman-"Shegotup,paidforhertea,andwentout.

OnhisreturnGeorgeCrozierwasmetbyarequestthathiswifemightnotbedisturbed.Herheadache,themaidsaid,wasverybad.

Itwasnineo'clockthenextmorningwhenheenteredherbedroom,hisfacerathergrave.Deirdrewassittingupinbed.Shelookedwhiteandhaggard,buthereyesshone.

"George,I'vegotsomethingtotellyou,somethingratherterrible-"

Heinterruptedherbrusquely.

"Soyou'veheard.Iwasafraiditmightupsetyou."

"Upsetme?"

"Yes.Youtalkedtothepooryoungfellowthatday."

He sawher hand steal to her heart, her eyelids flicker, then she said in alow,quickvoicethatsomehowfrightenedhim:

"I'veheardnothing.Tellmequickly."

"Ithought-"

"Tellme!"

"Outatthattobaccoestate.Chapshothimself.Badlybrokenupinthewar,nervesalltopieces,Isuppose.There'snootherreasontoaccountforit."

"He shot himself in that dark shedwhere the tobaccowas hanging." Shespokewithcertainty,hereyeslikeasleepwalker'sasshesawbeforeherintheodorousdarknessafigurelyingthere,revolverinhand.

"Why,tobesure;that'swhereyouweretakenqueeryesterday.Oddthing,that!"

Deirdredidnotanswer.Shesawanotherpicture-atablewithteathingsonit,andawomanbowingherheadinacceptanceofalie.

"Well,well,thewarhasalottoanswerfor,"saidCrozier,andstretchedouthishandforamatch,lightinghispipewithcarefulpuffs.

Hiswife'scrystartledhim.

"Ah!don't,don't!Ican'tbearthesmell!"

Hestaredatherinkindlyastonishment.

"Mydear girl, youmustn't be nervy.After all, you can't escape from thesmelloftobacco.You'llmeetiteverywhere."

"Yes,everywhere!"Shesmiledaslow,twistedsmile,andmurmuredsomewords that he did not catch, words that she had chosen for the originalobituary notice of Tim Nugent's death. "While the light lasts I shallremember,andinthedarknessIshallnotforget."

Hereyeswidenedastheyfollowedtheascendingspiralofsmoke,andsherepeatedinalow,monotonousvoice:"Everywhere,everywhere."

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