WhiletheLightLastsAgathaChristie

CONTENTS

TheHouseofDreams

TheActress(ATrapfortheUnwary)

TheEdgeChristmasAdventure(TheTheftoftheRoyalRuby)TheLonelyGodManxGoldWithinaWallTheMysteryof theBaghdadChestWhiletheLightLasts

THEHOUSEOFDREAMS

ThisisthestoryofJohnSegrave-ofhislife,whichwasunsatisfactory;ofhislove,whichwasunsatisfied;ofhisdreams,andofhisdeath;andifinthetwo latterhe foundwhatwasdenied in the two former, thenhis lifemay,afterall,betakenasasuccess.Whoknows?

JohnSegravecameofafamilywhichhadbeenslowlygoingdownthehillforthelastcentury.TheyhadbeenlandownerssincethedaysofElizabeth,buttheirlastpieceofpropertywassold.Itwasthoughtwellthatoneofthesons at least should acquire the useful art ofmoney—making. Itwas anunconsciousironyofFatethatJohnshouldbetheonechosen.

Withhisstrangelysensitivemouth,andthelongdarkblueslitsofeyesthatsuggested an elf or a faun, something wild and of the woods, it wasincongruousthatheshouldbeofferedup,asacrificeonthealtarofFinance.Thesmelloftheearth,thetasteoftheseasaltonone'slips,andthefreeskyaboveone'shead-thesewerethethingsbelovedbyJohnSegrave,towhichhewastobidfarewell.

At the age of eighteen he became a junior clerk in a big businesshouse.Seven years later hewas still a clerk, not quite so junior, butwith statusotherwiseunchanged.The faculty for"getting on in theworld" had beenomittedfromhismakeup.Hewaspunctual,industrious,plodding-aclerkand nothing but a clerk. And yet hemight have been - what? He couldhardly answer that question himself,but he could not rid himself of theconvictionthatsomewheretherewasalifeinwhichhecouldhave-counted.Therewaspowerinhim,swiftnessofvision,asomethingofwhichhisfellowtoilershadneverhadaglimpse.Theylikedhim.Hewaspopularbecauseofhis air of careless friendship, and they never appreciated the fact that hebarredthemoutbythatsamemannerfromanyrealintimacy.

Thedreamcame tohimsuddenly. Itwasnochildish fantasygrowinganddeveloping through the years. It came on a midsummer night, or ratherearlymorning,andhewoke from it tinglingallover, striving tohold it tohimasitfled,slippingfromhisclutchintheelusivewaydreamshave.

Desperatelyheclungtoit.Itmustnotgo-itmustnot-Hemustremember

thehouse.ItwastheHouse,ofcourse!TheHouseheknewsowell.Wasitarealhouse,ordidhemerelyknowitindreams?Hedidn'tremember-buthecertainlyknewit-knewitverywell.

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

JohnSegravelayquiet,wrappedinthejoy,theexquisitewonderandbeautyofhisdream.Howcleverithadbeenofhimtorememberit!Adreamflittedsoquickly as a rule, ranpast you just aswithwakingconsciousness yourclumsyfingerssoughttostopandholdit.Buthehadbeentooquickforthisdream!Hehadseizeditasitwasslippingswiftlybyhim.

It was really a most remarkable dream! There was the house and - Histhoughtswerebroughtupwithajerk,forwhenhecametothinkof it,hecouldn't rememberanythingbut thehouse.And suddenly,witha tinge ofdisappointment,herecognizedthat,afterall,thehousewasquitestrangetohim.Hehadn'tevendreamedofitbefore.

It was awhite house, standing on high ground. Therewere trees near it,blue hills in the distance, but its peculiar charm was independent ofsurroundingsfor(andthiswasthepoint,theclimaxofthedream)itwasabeautiful, a strangely beautiful house. His pulses quickened as herememberedanewthestrangebeautyofthehouse.

Theoutsideof it, of course, forhehadn'tbeen inside.Therehadbeennoquestionofthat-noquestionofitwhatsoever.

Then,as thedingyoutlinesofhisbed-sitting-roombegan to take shape inthe growing light, he experienced the disillusion of the dreamer.Perhaps,afterall,hisdreamhadn'tbeensoverywonderful-orhadthewonderful,the explanatory part, slipped past him, and laughed at his ineffectualclutching hands? A white house, standing on high ground - there wasn'tmuch there to get excited about, surely. It was rather a big house, heremembered,withalotofwindowsinit,andtheblindswerealldown,notbecause thepeoplewereaway(hewassureof that),butbecause itwassoearlythatnoonewasupyet.

Thenhe laughedat theabsurdityofhis imaginings,andremembered that

hewastodinewithMr.Wettermanthatnight.

II

Maisie Wetterman was Rudolf Wetterman's only daughter, and she hadbeen accustomed all her life to having exactlywhat shewanted.Paying avisit toher father's office oneday, shehadnoticedJohnSegrave.He hadbrought in some letters that her father had asked for. When he haddeparted again, she asked her father about him. Wetterman wascommunicative.

"OneofSirEdwardSegrave'ssons.Fineoldfamily,butonitslastlegs.Thisboy will never set the Thames on fire. I like him all right, but there'snothingtohim.Nopunchofanykind."

Maisiewas,perhaps,indifferenttopunch.Itwasaqualityvaluedmorebyherparentthanherself.Anyway,afortnightlatershepersuadedherfatherto ask JohnSegrave to dinner. Itwas an intimatedinner,herself and herfather,JohnSegrave,andagirlfriendwhowasstayingwithher.

Thegirlfriendwasmovedtomakeafewremarks.

"Onapproval,Isuppose,Maisie?Later,fatherwilldoitupinanice littleparcel and bring it home from the city as a present to his dear littledaughter,dulyboughtandpaidfor."

"Allegra!Youarethelimit."

AllegraKerrlaughed.

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

"Don'tbeabsurd.I'vehardlyspokentohimyet."

"No. But you've made up your mind," said the other girl. "What's theattraction,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."

Allegrasmiledasshespoke,andletherglancesweepovertheother.MaisieWetterman was short - inclined to be plump - she had dark hair, wellshingled and artistically waved. Her naturally good complexion wasenhancedbythelatestcolorsinpowderandlipstick.Shehadagoodmouthandteeth,darkeyes,rathersmallandtwinkly,andajawandchinslightlyontheheavyside.Shewasbeautifullydressed.

"Yes,"saidAllegra,finishingherscrutiny."I'venodoubthewill.Thewholeeffectisreallyverygood,Maisie."

Herfriendlookedatherdoubtfully.

"Imeanit,"saidAllegra."Imeanit-honorbright.Butjustsupposing,forthe sakeofargument, thathe shouldn't.Fall in love, Imean.Suppose hisaffectiontobecomesincere,butplatonic.Whatthen?"

"ImaynotlikehimatallwhenIknowhimbetter."

"Quiteso.Ontheotherhandyoumaylikehimverymuchindeed.And inthatlattercase-"

Maisieshruggedhershoulders.

"IshouldhopeI'vetoomuchpride-"

Allegrainterrupted.

"Pridecomesinhandyformaskingone'sfeelings-itdoesn'tstopyoufromfeelingthem."

"Well,"saidMaisie,flushed."Idon'tseewhyIshouldn'tsayit.Iamaverygood match. I mean from his point of view, father's daughter andeverything."

"Partnership in the offing, et cetera," said Allegra. "Yes, Maisie. You'refather'sdaughter,allright.I'mawfullypleased.Idolikemyfriendstoruntruetotype."

Thefaintmockeryofhertonemadetheotheruneasy.

"Youarehateful,Allegra."

"But stimulating,darling.That'swhyyouhavemehere. I'ma studentofhistory, you know, and it always intrigued me why the court jester waspermitted and encouraged. Now that I'm onemyself, I see the point. It'sratheragoodrôle,yousee,Ihadtodosomething.TherewasI,proudandpenniless like the heroine of a novelette, well born and badly educated.'What to do, girl?Godwot,' saith she. The poor relation type of girl, allwillingnesstodowithoutafireinherroomandcontenttodooddjobsand'helpdearCousinSo-and-So,'Iobservedtobeatapremium.Nobodyreallywantsher-exceptthosepeoplewhocan'tkeeptheirservants,andtheytreatherlikeagalleyslave.

"So Ibecame the court fool. Insolence, plain speaking, adashofwitnowandagain(nottoomuchlestIshouldhavetoliveuptoit),andbehinditall,avery shrewdobservationofhumannature.Peoplerather likebeing toldhowhorrible they really are.That'swhy they flock to popular preachers.It's been a great success. I'm always overwhelmedwith invitations. I canlive on my friends with the greatest ease, and I'm careful to make nopretenceofgratitude."

"There'snoonequite like you,Allegra.Youdon'tmind in the leastwhatyousay."

"That'swhereyou'rewrong. Imindverymuch - I takecareand thoughtaboutthematter.Myseemingoutspokenness isalwayscalculated.I'vegottobecareful.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."

Johncameinwithoutanyparticularenthusiasm.Hecouldn'timaginewhytheoldboyhadaskedhim.Ifhecouldhavegotoutofithewouldhavedoneso.Thehousedepressedhim,withitssolidmagnificenceandthesoftpileofitscarpet.

A girl came forward and shookhandswithhim.He rememberedvaguelyhavingseenheronedayinherfather'soffice.

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

Thenhewoke.Whowasshe?Wheredidshecomefrom?Fromthe flame-coloreddraperiesthatfloatedroundher,tothetinyMercurywingsonhersmall Greek head, she was a being transitory and fugitive, standing outagainstthedullbackgroundwithaneffectofunreality.

Rudolph Wetterman came in, his broad expanse of gleaming shirtfrontcreakingashewalked.Theywentdowninformallytodinner.

Allegra Kerr talked to her host. John Segrave had to devote himself to

Maisie.Buthiswholemindwasonthegirlontheothersideofhim.Shewasmarvelouslyeffective.Hereffectivenesswas,hethought,morestudiedthannatural.Butbehindallthat,therelaysomethingelse.Flickeringfire,fitful,capricious,likethewill-o'-the-wispsthatofoldluredmenintothemarshes.

At last he got a chance to speak to her. Maisie was giving her father amessagefromsomefriendshehadmetthatday.Nowthatthemomenthadcome,hewastongue-tied.Hisglancepleadedwithherdumbly.

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

Johnlaughed.

"Andifwefindwebothlikedogsanddislikesandycats,itwillformwhatiscalleda'bond'betweenus?"

"Assuredly,"saidAllegragravely.

"Itis,Ithink,apitytobeginwithacatechism."

"Yetitputsconversationwithinthereachofall."

"True,butwithdisastrousresults."

"Itisusefultoknowtherules-ifonlytobreakthem."

Johnsmiledather.

"I take it, then, that you and I will indulge our personal vagaries. Eventhoughwedisplaytherebythegeniusthatisakintomadness."

Witha sharpunguardedmovement, the girl's hand swept awineglass offthe table. There was the tinkle of broken glass. Maisie and her fatherstoppedspeaking.

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

"MydearAllegra, itdoesn'tmatterat all, notat all."BeneathhisbreathJohnSegravesaidquickly:"Brokenglass.That'sbadluck.Iwish-ithadn't

happened."

"Don'tworry.Howdoesitgo?'Illluckthoucanstnotbringwhereill luckhasitshome.'"

She turned once more to Wetterman. John, resuming conversationwithMaisie,triedtoplacethequotation.Hegotitatlast.TheywerethewordsusedbySieglindeintheWalkürewhenSigmundofferstoleavethehouse.

Hethought:"Didshemean-"

ButMaisiewasaskinghisopinionofthelatestrevue.Soonhehadadmittedthathewasfondofmusic.

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

They all went up to the drawing room together. Secretly, Wettermanconsidereditabarbarouscustom.

He liked the ponderous gravity of the wine passing round, the handedcigars.Butperhapsitwasaswelltonight.Hedidn'tknowwhatonearthhecouldfindtosaytoyoungSegrave.Maisiewastoobadwithherwhims.Itwasn'tas though the fellowweregood-looking - reallygood-looking - andcertainlyhewasn'tamusing.HewasgladwhenMaisieaskedAllegraKerrtoplay.They'dgetthroughtheeveningsooner.Theyoungidiotdidn'tevenplaybridge.

Allegra playedwell, thoughwithout the sure touch of a professional.Sheplayed modern music, Debussy and Strauss, a little Scriabine.Then shedroppedintothefirstmovementofBeethoven'sPathétique,thatexpressionofagriefthatisinfinite,asorrowthatisendlessandvastastheages,butinwhichfromendtoendbreathesthespiritthatwillnotacceptdefeat.Inthesolemnityofundyingwoe,itmoveswiththerhythmoftheconquerortoitsfinaldoom.

Towardstheendshefaltered,herfingersstruckadiscord,andshebrokeoffabruptly.ShelookedacrossatMaisieandlaughedmockingly.

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

Then,withoutwaitingforareplytohersomewhatenigmaticalremark,sheplunged into a strange hauntingmelody, a thing of weirdharmonies andcuriousmeasured rhythm, quite unlike anythingSegrave had ever heardbefore. Itwasdelicateas the flightofabird,poised, hovering - Suddenly,withouttheleastwarning,itturnedintoamerediscordantjangleofnotes,andAllegraroselaughingfromthepiano.

In spiteofher laugh, she lookeddisturbedandalmost frightened.ShesatdownbyMaisie,andJohnheardthe lattersay ina lowtonetoher:"Youshouldn'tdoit.Youreallyshouldn'tdoit."

"Whatwasthelastthing?"Johnaskedeagerly.

"Somethingofmyown."

Shespokesharplyandcurtly.Wettermanchangedthesubject.

ThatnightJohnSegravedreamedagainoftheHouse.

III

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

Hedidnotdisguise tohimself thereason for thechange.Hehad fallen inloveatfirstsightwithAllegraKerr.Whatwashegoingtodoaboutit?

Hehadbeentoobewilderedthatfirstnighttomakeanyplans.Hehadnoteventriedtoseeheragain.Alittlelater,whenMaisieWettermanaskedhimdown toher father'splace in thecountry foraweekend,hewent eagerly,buthewasdisappointed,forAllegrawasnotthere.

Hementionedheronce,tentatively,toMaisie,andshetoldhimthatAllegrawasupinScotlandpayingavisit.Heleftitatthat.Hewouldhavelikedtogoontalkingabouther,butthewordsseemedtostickinhisthroat.

Maisiewaspuzzledbyhimthatweekend.Hedidn'tappeartosee-well, toseewhatwas soplainly tobe seen.Shewasadirectyoungwoman in hermethods, but directness was lost upon John. He thoughther kind, but alittleoverpowering.

Yet theFateswerestrongerthanMaisie.TheywilledthatJohnshouldseeAllegraagain.

TheymetintheparkoneSundayafternoon.Hehadseenherfromfaroff,and his heart thumped against the side of his ribs. Supposing she shouldhaveforgottenhim-

But shehadnot forgotten. She stopped and spoke. In a fewminutes theywerewalkingsidebyside,strikingoutacrossthegrass.Hewasridiculouslyhappy.

Hesaidsuddenlyandunexpectedly:"Doyoubelieveindreams?"

"Ibelieveinnightmares."

Theharshnessofhervoicestartledhim.

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

Allegralookedathim.

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

Hervoicewasgentle-different-

He toldher thenofhisdreamof thewhitehouse, stammeringa little.Hehadhaditnowsix-no,seventimes.Alwaysthesame.Itwasbeautiful-sobeautiful!

Hewenton.

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

"To do with me?" She laughed - a short bitter laugh. "Oh, no, that'simpossible.Thehousewasbeautiful."

"Soareyou,"saidJohnSegrave.

Allegraflushedalittlewithannoyance.

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

"Ihaven'tseentheinsideofthehouseyet,"saidJohnSegrave."WhenIdoIknowitwillbequiteasbeautifulastheoutside."

Hespokeslowlyandgravely,givingthewordsameaningthatshechosetoignore.

"ThereissomethingmoreIwanttotellyou-ifyouwilllisten."

"Iwilllisten,"saidAllegra.

"Iamchuckingupthisjobofmine.Ioughttohavedoneitlongago-Iseethatnow.IhavebeencontenttodriftalongknowingIwasanutterfailure,

withoutcaringmuch,justlivingfromdaytoday.Amanshouldn'tdothat.It'saman'sbusinesstofindsomethinghecandoandmakeasuccessofit.I'mchucking this,and takingon somethingelse -quiteadifferent sortofthing.It'sakindofexpeditioninWestAfrica-Ican't tellyouthedetails.They'renotsupposedtobeknown;butifitcomesoffwell,Ishallbearichman."

"Soyou,too,countsuccessintermsofmoney?"

"Money," saidJohnSegrave,"means just one thing tome - you!When Icomeback-"hepaused.

Shebentherhead.Herfacehadgrownverypale.

"Iwon't pretend tomisunderstand.That'swhy Imust tell younow,onceandforall:Ishallnevermarry."

Hestayedalittlewhileconsidering,thenhesaidverygently:"Can'tyoutellmewhy?"

"Icould,butmorethananythingintheworldIwantnottotellyou."

Againhewassilent,thenhelookedupsuddenlyandasingularlyattractivesmileilluminedhisfaun'sface.

"Isee,"hesaid."Soyouwon'tletmecomeinsidetheHouse-noteven topeepinforasecond?Theblindsaretostaydown."

Allegraleanedforwardandlaidherhandonhis.

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

Andonthatshelefthim,abruptly,disconcertingly.Thatnight,oncemore,he dreamed. Of late, he had realized that the House was most certainlytenanted.Hehadseenahanddrawasidetheblinds,hadcaughtglimpsesofmovingfigureswithin.

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

Then, suddenly, he became aware of a fuller ripple of the waves of joy.Someonewas coming to thewindow.He knew it.A hand, the samehandthathehadseenbefore,laidholdoftheblind,drawingitback.Inaminutehewouldsee-

Hewasawake-stillquiveringwiththehorror,theunutterableloathingoftheThingthathadlookedoutathimfromthewindowoftheHouse.

ItwasaThingutterlyandwhollyhorrible,aThingsovileand loathsomethatthemereremembranceofitmadehimfeelsick.Andheknewthatthemostunutterably andhorribly vile thingabout itwas itspresence in thatHouse-theHouseofBeauty.

ForwherethatThingabodewashorror-horrorthatroseupandslewthepeaceandtheserenitywhichwerethebirthrightoftheHouse.Thebeauty,the wonderful immortal beauty of the House was destroyed for ever, forwithin its holy consecrated walls there dwelt the Shadow of an UncleanThing!

IfeveragainheshoulddreamoftheHouse,Segraveknewhewouldawakeatoncewitha startof terror, lest from itswhitebeauty thatThingmightsuddenlylookoutathim.

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

Henevernoticed the eager light that flashed intoMaisie's eyes as hewasshownin,andshejumpeduptogreethim.Hestammeredouthisrequestatonce,withherhandstillinhis.

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

He did not feel Maisie's hand grow limp in his as she withdrew it. Thesuddencoldnessofhervoicetoldhimnothing.

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

"But-"

"Yousee,hermotherdiedthismorning.We'vejusthadthenews."

"Oh!"Hewastakenaback.

"Itisallverysad,"saidMaisie.Shehesitatedjustaminute,thenwenton."Yousee, shedied in -well,practicallyanasylum.There's insanity in thefamily. The grandfather shot himself, and one of Allegra's aunts is ahopelessimbecile,andanotherdrownedherself."

JohnSegravemadeaninarticulatesound.

"IthoughtIoughttotellyou,"saidMaisievirtuously."We'resuchfriends,aren't we? And of course Allegra is very attractive. Lots ofpeople haveasked her to marry them, but naturally she won't marry at all - shecouldn't,couldshe?"

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

Hisvoicesoundedhoarseandunnaturalinhisownears.

"Oneneverknows;hermotherwasquiteallrightwhenshewasyoung.Andshe wasn't just - peculiar, you know. She was quite raving mad. It's adreadfulthing-insanity."

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

Heknewnowwhat itwas thathad lookedathimfromthewindowof theHouse.

Maisiewasstilltalkingon.Heinterruptedherbrusquely.

"Ireallycametosaygoodbye-andtothankyouforallyourkindness."

"You'renot-goingaway?"

Therewasalarminhervoice.

Hesmiledsidewaysather-acrookedsmile,patheticandattractive.

"Yes,"hesaid."ToAfrica."

"Africa!"

Maisie echoed thewordblankly.Before she couldpullherself togetherhehad shaken her by the hand and gone. She was left standing there, herhandsclenchedbyhersides,anangryspotofcolorineachcheek.

Below,onthedoorstep,JohnSegravecamefacetofacewithAllegracominginfromthestreet.Shewasinblack,herfacewhiteandlifeless.Shetookoneglanceathimthendrewhimintoasmallmorningroom.

"Maisietoldyou,"shesaid."Youknow?"

Henodded.

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

Shelookedathimsomberly,mournfully.

"Youareallright,"herepeated.

"Idon'tknow,"shealmostwhisperedit."Idon'tknow.Itoldyou-aboutmydreams.AndwhenIplay -whenI'mat thepiano- thoseotherscomeandtakeholdofmyhands."

Hewasstaringather-paralyzed.Foroneinstant,asshespoke,somethinglookedoutfromhereyes.Itwasgoneinaflash-butheknewit.ItwastheThingthathadlookedoutfromtheHouse.

Shecaughthismomentaryrecoil.

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

"Everything?"

"Yes.Therewon'tevenbe thedreams left.Fornow-you'llneverdare todreamoftheHouseagain."

IV

TheWestAfricansunpoureddown,andtheheatwasintense.

JohnSegravecontinuedtomoan.

"Ican'tfindit.Ican'tfindit."

ThelittleEnglishdoctorwiththeredheadandthetremendousjawscowleddownuponhispatientinthatbullyingmannerwhichhehadmadehisown.

"He'salwayssayingthat.Whatdoeshemean?"

"Hespeaks,Ithink,ofahouse,monsieur."Thesoft-voicedSisterofCharityfromtheRomanCatholicMissionspokewithhergentledetachment,asshetoolookeddownonthestrickenman.

"Ahouse,eh?Well,he'sgottogetitoutofhishead,orweshan'tpullhimthrough.It'sonhismind.Segrave!Segrave!"

Thewanderingattentionwasfixed.Theeyesrestedwithrecognitiononthedoctor'sface.

"Lookhere,you'regoingtopullthrough.I'mgoingtopullyouthrough.Butyou'vegottostopworryingaboutthishouse.Itcan'trunaway,youknow.Sodon'tbotheraboutlookingforitnow."

"Allright."Heseemedobedient."Isupposeitcan'tverywellrunaway ifit'sneverbeenthereatall."

"Ofcoursenot!"Thedoctor laughedhischeery laugh."Nowyou'llbeallright inno time."Andwithaboisterousbluntness ofmannerhe tookhisdeparture.

Segrave lay thinking.The feverhadabated for themoment,andhecouldthinkclearlyandlucidly.HemustfindthatHouse.

For tenyearshehaddreaded finding it - the thought thathemight comeupon itunawareshadbeenhisgreatest terror.And then,he remembered,

when his fears were quite lulled to rest, one day it had found him. Herecalledclearlyhisfirsthauntingterror,andthenhissudden,hisexquisite,relief.For,afterall,theHousewasempty!

Quiteemptyandexquisitelypeaceful.Itwasasherememberedittenyearsbefore.Hehadnotforgotten.TherewasahugeblackfurniturevanmovingslowlyawayfromtheHouse.Thelasttenant,ofcourse,movingoutwithhisgoods.Hewentuptothemeninchargeofthevanandspoketothem.Therewas something rather sinister about that van, it was so very black. Thehorseswereblack,too,withfreelyflowingmanesandtails,andthemenallwore black clothes and gloves. It all reminded him of something else,somethingthathecouldn'tremember.

Yes,hehadbeenquite right.The last tenantwasmovingout, ashis leasewasup.TheHousewastostandemptyforthepresent,untiltheownercamebackfromabroad.

Andwaking,hehadbeenfullofthepeacefulbeautyoftheemptyHouse.

Amonthafterthat,hehadreceivedaletterfromMaisie(shewrotetohimperseveringly,onceamonth).InitshetoldhimthatAllegraKerrhaddiedin thesamehomeashermother,andwasn't itdreadfullysad?Thoughofcourseamercifulrelease.

It had really been very odd indeed.Coming afterhis dream like that.Hedidn'tquiteunderstanditall.Butitwasodd.

Andtheworstof itwasthathe'dneverbeenable to findtheHousesince.Somehow,he'dforgottentheway.

The fever began to take hold of him once more. He tossed restlessly.Ofcourse,he'dforgotten,theHousewasonhighground!Hemustclimbtogetthere.Butitwashotworkclimbingcliffs-dreadfullyhot.Up,up,up-Oh!he had slipped!Hemust start again from the bottom.Up, up, up - dayspassed, weeks - he wasn't sure that years didn't goby! And he was stillclimbing.

Oncehe heard the doctor's voice.But he couldn't stop climbing to listen.Besides the doctor would tell him to leave off looking for theHouse. Hethoughtitwasanordinaryhouse.Hedidn'tknow.

He remembered suddenly that hemust be calm, very calm. You couldn'tfind theHouse unless you were very calm. It was no use looking for theHouseinahurry,orbeingexcited.

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

Hewassotired.Hewouldn'tgoonlooking-itwasnogood-Ah!herewasalane-thatwasbetterthanicebergs,anyway.Howpleasantandshadyitwasin the cool, green lane. And those trees - they were splendid! They wereratherlike-what?Hecouldn'tremember,butitdidn'tmatter.

Ah!herewereflowers.Allgoldenandblue!Howlovelyitallwas-andhowstrangelyfamiliar.Ofcourse,hehadbeenherebefore.There, throughthetrees, was the gleam of the House, standing on the high ground. Howbeautiful it was. The green lane and the trees and the flowers were asnothingtotheparamount,theall-satisfyingbeautyoftheHouse.

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

Andofcoursethebeautyoftheexteriorwasasnothingtothebeauty thatlaywithin-especiallynowthattheOwnerhadcomebackfromabroad.Hemountedthestepstothegreatdoor.

Cruel strong hands were dragging him back! They fought him,dragginghimtoandfro,backwardsandforwards.

Thedoctorwasshakinghim,roaringinhisear.

"Hold on,man, you can.Don't let go.Don't let go."His eyeswere alightwith the fierceness of onewho sees an enemy. Segravewonderedwho theEnemywas.

Theblack-robednunwaspraying.That,too,wasstrange.

Andallhewantedwastobeleftalone.TogobacktotheHouse.ForeveryminutetheHousewasgrowingfainter.

That, of course, was because the doctor was so strong. He wasn't strong

enoughtofightthedoctor.Ifheonlycould.

Butstop!Therewasanotherway-thewaydreamswentinthemomentofwaking.No strength could stop them - they just flittedpast.Thedoctor'shandswouldn'tbeabletoholdhimifheslipped-justslipped!

Yes,thatwastheway!Thewhitewallswerevisibleoncemore,thedoctor'svoice was fainter, his hands were barely felt. He knew now how dreamslaughwhentheygiveyoutheslip!

HewasatthedooroftheHouse.Theexquisitestillnesswasunbroken.Heputthekeyinthelockandturnedit.

Justamomenthewaited,torealizetothefulltheperfect,theineffable,theall-satisfyingcompletenessofjoy.

Then-hepassedovertheThreshold.

THEACTRESS

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

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

Hisglancedroppedto theprograminhishand.Onenamewasprinted inslightlylargertypethantherest.

"OlgaStormer!Sothat'swhatshecallsherself.Fancyyourselfastar,don'tyou,my lady?And youmust bemaking a pretty little pot ofmoney, too.QuiteforgottenyournamewaseverNancyTaylor,Idaresay.Iwondernow- I wonder now what you'd say if Jake Levitt should remind you of thefact?"

The curtain fell on the close of the first act. Hearty applause filled theauditorium.OlgaStormer,thegreatemotionalactress,whosenameinafewshortyearshadbecomeahouseholdword,wasaddingyetanothertriumphtoherlistofsuccessesas"Cora",inTheAvengingAngel.

Jake Levitt did not join in the clapping, but a slow, appreciative gringraduallydistendedhismouth.God!What luck!Justwhenhewasonhisbeam-ends,too.She'dtrytobluffitout,hesupposed,butshecouldn'tputitoveronhim.Properlyworked,thethingwasagoldmine!

II

On the following morning the first workings of Jake Levitt's gold minebecame apparent. In her drawing room, with its red lacquer and blackhangings,OlgaStormerreadandrereadaletterthoughtfully.Herpaleface,with its exquisitelymobile features, was a littlemore set thanusual, andevery now and then the grey-green eyes under the level brows steadilyenvisaged the middle distance, as though she contemplated the threatbehindratherthantheactualwordsoftheletter.

In thatwonderful voice ofhers,which could throbwith emotionorbeasclear-cutastheclickofatypewriter,Olgacalled:"MissJones!"

Aneatyoungwomanwithspectacles,ashorthandpadandapencilclaspedinherhand,hastenedfromanadjoiningroom.

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

Syd Danahan, Olga Stormer'smanager, entered the roomwith the usualapprehension of the man whose life it is to deal with and overcome thevagariesoftheartisticfeminine.Tocoax,tosoothe,tobully,oneatatimeorall together, suchwas his daily routine.Tohisrelief,Olga appeared calmandreposed,andmerelyflickedanoteacrossthetabletohim.

"Readthat."

Theletterwasscrawledinanilliteratehand,ofcheappaper.

DearMadam,ImuchappreciatedyourperformanceinTheAvengingAngellastnight. I fancywe have amutual friend inMissNancyTaylor, late ofChicago.Anarticleregardingher is tobepublishedshortly. Ifyouwouldcare to discuss same, I could call upon you at any time convenient toyourself.

Yoursrespectfully,JakeLevitt

Danahanlookedlightlybewildered,"Idon'tquitegetit.WhoisthisNancy

Taylor?"

"A girl who would be better dead, Danny." There was bitterness in hervoiceandawearinessthatrevealedherthirty-fouryears."Agirlwhowasdeaduntilthiscarrioncrowbroughthertolifeagain."

"Oh!Then..."

"Me,Danny.Justme."

"Thismeansblackmail,ofcourse?"

Shenodded."Ofcourse,andbyamanwhoknowstheartthoroughly."

Danahan frowned, considering thematter. Olga, her cheek pillowed on along,slenderhand,watchedhimwithunfathomableeyes.

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

Olgashookherhead.

"Levittmakeshislivingbyblackmailingwomen.He'ssureenough."

"Thepolice?"hintedDanahandoubtfully.

Her faint, derisive smile was answer enough. Beneath her self-control,thoughhedidnotguessit,wastheimpatienceofthekeenbrainwatchingaslower brain laboriously cover the ground it had already traversed in aflash.

"You don't - er - think it might be wise for you to - er - say somethingyourselftoSirRichard?Thatwouldpartlyspikehisguns."

The actress's engagement to Sir Richard Everard, M.P., had beenannouncedafewweekspreviously.

"ItoldRichardeverythingwhenheaskedmetomarryhim."

"Myword,thatwascleverofyou!"saidDanahanadmiringly.

Olgasmiledalittle.

"Itwasn'tcleverness,Dannydear.Youwouldn'tunderstand.Allthesame,ifthismanLevittdoeswhathethreatens,mynumberisup,andincidentallyRichard's Parliamentary career goes smash, too. No, as far as I can see,thereareonlytwothingstodo."

"Well?"

"Topay-andthatofcourseisendless!Ortodisappear,startagain."

Thewearinesswasagainveryapparentinhervoice.

"Itisn'tevenasthoughI'ddoneanythingIregretted.Iwasahalf—starvedlittlegutterwaif,Danny,strivingtokeepstraight.Ishotaman,abeastofamanwhodeservedtobeshot.ThecircumstancesunderwhichIkilledhimweresuchthatnojuryonearthwouldhaveconvictedme.Iknowthatnow,butatthetimeIwasonlyafrightenedkid-and-Iran."

Danahannodded.

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

Olgashookherhead.

"Very unlikely. He's toomuch of a coward to go in for evil-doing." Thesoundofherownwords seemed to strikeher."Acoward! Iwonder ifwecouldn'tworkonthatinsomeway."

"IfSirRichardweretoseehimandfrightenhim,"suggestedDanahan.

"Richardistoofineaninstrument.Youcan'thandlethatsortofmanwithgloveson."

"Well,letmeseehim."

"Forgive me, Danny, but I don't think you're subtle enough. Somethingbetweenglovesandbare fists isneeded.Letus saymittens!Thatmeansawoman!Yes,Iratherfancyawomanmightdothetrick.Awomanwitha

certainamountoffinesse,butwhoknowsthebasersideof life frombitterexperience. Olga Stormer, for instance! Don't talk tome, I've got a plancoming."

Sheleanedforward,buryingherfaceinherhands.Shelifteditsuddenly.

"What's the name of that girl who wants to understudy me? MargaretRyan,isn'tit?Thegirlwiththehairlikemine?"

"Herhair'sallright,"admittedDanahangrudgingly,hiseyesrestingonthebronze-goldcoilsurroundingOlga'shead."It'sjust likeyours,asyousay.Butshe'snogoodanyotherway.Iwasgoingtosackhernextweek."

"If all goeswell, you'll probably have to let her understudy 'Cora'." Shesmothered his protestswith awave of her hand. "Danny, answermeonequestionhonestly.DoyouthinkIcanact?Reallyact,Imean.OramIjustanattractivewomanwhotrailsroundinprettydresses?"

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

"ThenifLevittisreallyacoward,asIsuspect,thethingwillcomeoff.No,I'mnotgoingto tellyouabout it. Iwantyoutogetholdof theRyangirl.Tell her I'm interested in her andwant her to dine here tomorrownight.She'llcomefastenough."

"Ishouldsayshewould!"

"The other thing I want is some good strong knockout drops, somethingthatwillputanyoneoutofactionforanhourortwo,butleavethemnonetheworsethenextday."

Danahangrinned.

"Ican'tguaranteeour friendwon'thaveaheadache,but therewillbenopermanentdamagedone."

"Good!Runawaynow,Danny, and leave the rest tome."She raisedhervoice:"MissJones!"

Thespectacledyoungwomanappearedwithherusualalacrity.

"Takedownthis,please."

Walkingslowlyupanddown,Olgadictatedtheday'scorrespondence.Butoneanswershewrotewithherownhand.

Jake Levitt, in his dingy room, grinned as he tore open the expectedenvelope.

DearSir,Icannotrecall the ladyofwhomyouspeak,butImeetsomanypeople that my memory is necessarily uncertain. I am always pleased tohelpanyfellowactress,andshallbeathomeifyouwillcallthiseveningatnineo'clock.

Yoursfaithfully,OlgaStormer

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

Thegoldminewasdeveloping.

III

Atnineo'clockpreciselyLevitt stoodoutside thedoorof theactress's flatandpressedthebell.Nooneansweredthesummons,andhewasabout topressitagainwhenherealizedthatthedoorwasnotlatched.

He pushed the door open and entered the hall. To his right was anopendoorleadingintoabrilliantlylightedroom,aroomdecoratedinscarletandblack.Levittwalkedin.Onthetableunderthelamplayasheetofpaperonwhichwerewrittenthewords:"PleasewaituntilIreturn.-O.Stormer."

Levittsatdownandwaited.Inspiteofhimselfafeelingofuneasinesswasstealing over him. The flat was so very quiet. Therewas something eerieaboutthesilence.

Nothingwrong,ofcourse,howcouldtherebe?Buttheroomwassodeadlyquiet; and yet, quiet as it was, he had the preposterous, uncomfortablenotionthathewasn'talone in it.Absurd!Hewipedtheperspirationfromhisbrow.Andstill the impressiongrewstronger.Hewasn't alone!With amutteredoathhesprangupandbegantopaceupanddown.Inaminutethewomanwouldreturnandthen-

He stopped dead with a muffled cry. From beneath the black velvethangings that draped the window a hand protruded! He stooped andtouchedit.Cold-horriblycold-adeadhand.

Withacryheflungbackthecurtains.Awomanwas lyingthere,onearmflung wide, the other doubled under her as she lay facedownwards, hergolden-bronzehairlyingindishevelledmassesonherneck.

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

Suddenly his eyes were arrested by two ends of red cord finishing infantastictassels,andhalfhiddenbythemassesofherhair.Hetouchedthemgingerly;theheadsaggedashedidso,andhecaughtaglimpseofahorriblepurple face. He sprang back with a cry, his head whirling. There was

something here he did not understand. His brief glimpse of the face,disfiguredasitwas,hadshownhimonething.Thiswasmurder,notsuicide.Thewomanhadbeenstrangledand-shewasnotOlgaStormer!

Ah!Whatwas that?A sound behind him.Hewheeled round and lookedstraightintotheterrifiedeyesofamaidservantcrouchingagainstthewall.Her face was as white as the cap and apron she wore, but he did notunderstand the fascinated horror in her eyes until her half— breathedwordsenlightenedhimtotheperilinwhichhestood.

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

Eventhenhedidnotquiterealize.Hereplied:"No,no,shewasdeadwhenIfoundher."

"Isawyerdoit!Youpulledthecordandstrangledher.I'eardthegurglingcryshegive."

Thesweatbrokeoutuponhisbrowinearnest.Hismindwentrapidlyoverhisactionsof theprevious fewminutes.Shemusthavecome in just ashehadthetwoendsofcord inhishands;shehadseenthesaggingheadandhad taken his own cry as coming from the victim. He stared at herhelplessly. There was no doubting what he saw in her face - terror andstupidity.Shewouldtell thepoliceshehadseenthecrimecommitted,andnocross-examinationwouldshakeher,hewassureofthat.Shewouldswearaway his life with the unshakable conviction that she was speaking thetruth.

What a horrible, unforeseen chain of circumstances! Stop, was itunforeseen?Was there some devilry here?On an impulse he said, eyeinghernarrowly:

"That'snotyourmistress,youknow."

Heranswer,givenmechanically,threwalightuponthesituation.

"No, it's 'er actress friend - if you can call 'em friends, seeing that theyfoughtlikecatanddog.Theywereatittonight,'ammerandtongs."

Atrap!Hesawitnow.

"Where'syourmistress?"

"Wentouttenminutesago."

A trap! And he had walked into it like a lamb. A clever devil, this OlgaStormer; shehadridherselfofarival,andhewas to suffer for thedeed.Murder!MyGod, they hung a man for murder! And he was innocent -innocent!

Astealthyrustlerecalledhim.Thelittlemaidwassidlingtowardsthedoor.Herwitswerebeginningtoworkagain.Hereyeswaveredtothe telephone,thenbacktothedoor.Atallcostshemustsilenceher.Itwastheonlyway.Aswellhangforarealcrimeasafictitiousone.Shehadnoweapon,neitherhad he. But he had his hands! Then his heart gave a leap. On the tablebesideher,almostunderherhand,layasmall,jeweledrevolver.Ifhecouldreachitfirst-

Instinctorhiseyeswarnedher.Shecaught itupashe sprangandheld itpointed at his breast. Awkwardly as she held it, her finger was on thetrigger,andshecouldhardlymisshimatthatdistance.Hestoppeddead.ArevolverbelongingtoawomanlikeOlgaStormerwouldbeprettysuretobeloaded.

But there was one thing, she was no longer directly behind him and thedoor.Solongashedidnotattackher,shemightnothavethenervetoshoot.Anyway,hemustrisk it.Zigzagging,heranforthedoor, throughthehallandoutthroughtheouterdoor,bangingitbehindhim.Heheardhervoice,faintand shaky, calling,"Police,Murder!"She'dhave to call louder thanthatbeforeanyonewas likelytohearher.He'dgota start,anyway.Downthestairshewent,runningdowntheopenstreet,thenslackingtoawalkasastraypedestrianturnedthecorner.Hehadhisplancutanddried.

To Gravesend as quickly as possible. A boat was sailing from there thatnightfortheremoterpartsoftheworld.Heknewthecaptain,amanwho,foraconsideration,wouldasknoquestions.Onceonboardandouttoseahewouldbesafe.

IV

Ateleveno'clockDanahan'stelephonerang.Olga'svoicespoke.

"Prepare a contract forMissRyan,will you?She's tounderstudy 'Cora'.It'sabsolutelynousearguing.IowehersomethingafterallthethingsIdidtohertonight!What?Yes,IthinkI'moutofmytroubles.Bytheway,ifshetellsyoutomorrowthatI'manardentspiritualistandputherintoatrancetonight, don't showopen incredulity.How?Knockoutdrops in the coffee,followed by scientific passes! After that I painted her face with purplegreasepaintandputatourniquetonherleftarm!

Mystified?Well,youmuststaymystifieduntiltomorrow.Ihaven'ttime toexplainnow.ImustgetoutofthecapandapronbeforemyfaithfulMaudreturns from the pictures. There was a 'beautiful drama' on tonight, shetoldme.Butshemissedthebestdramaofall.Iplayedmybestparttonight,Danny.Themittenswon!JakeLevittisacowardallright,andoh,Danny,Danny-I'manactress!"

THEEDGE

ClareHalliwellwalkeddowntheshortpaththatledfromhercottagedoortothegate.Onherarmwasabasket,andinthebasketwasabottleofsoup,somehome-madejelly,andafewgrapes.Therewerenotmanypoorpeoplein the small village of Daymer's End, but such as there were wereassiduously looked after, and Clare was one of themost efficient of theparishworkers.

ClareHalliwellwasthirty-two.Shehadanuprightcarriage,ahealthycolor,and nice brown eyes. She was not beautiful, but she looked fresh andpleasant and very English. Everybody liked her and said shewas a goodsort. Since hermother's death, two years ago, she had lived alone in thecottagewithherdog,Rover.Shekeptpoultryandwasfondofanimalsandofahealthyoutdoorlife.

Assheunlatchedthegate,atwo-seatercarsweptpast,andthedriver,agirlinaredhat,wavedagreeting.Clareresponded,butforamomentherlipstightened.ShefeltthatpangatherheartwhichalwayscamewhenshesawVivienLee,Gerald'swife!

MedenhamGrange,whichlayjustamileoutsidethevillage,hadbelongedtotheLeesformanygenerations.SirGeraldLee,thepresentowneroftheGrange, was a man old for his years and considered by many stiff inmanner.Hispomposityreallycoveredagooddealofshyness.HeandClarehadplayedtogetheraschildren.Latertheyhadbeenfriends,andacloseranddearertiehadbeenconfidentlyexpectedbymany-including,itmaybesaid,Clareherself.Therewasnohurry,ofcourse-butsomeday-Sheleftitsoinherownmind.Someday.

Andthen,justayearago,thevillagehadbeenstartledbythenewsofSirGerald'smarriagetoaMissHarper-agirlnobodyhadeverheardof!

The newLadyLee had not been popular in the village. She took not thefaintestinterestinparochialmatters,wasboredbyhunting,andloathedthecountryandoutdoor sports.Manyof thewiseacres shook theirheadsandwondered how it would end. It was easy to see where Sir Gerald'sinfatuationhadcomein.Vivienwasabeauty.Fromheadtofootshewasa

complete contrast toClareHalliwell - small, elfin,dainty,with golden-redhairthatcurledenchantinglyoverherprettyears,andbigvioleteyes thatcouldshootasidewaysglanceofprovocationtothemannerborn.

GeraldLee, in his simpleman'sway, had been anxious that hiswife andClareshouldbegreatfriends.ClarewasoftenaskedtodineattheGrange,andVivienmadeaprettypretenceofaffectionate intimacywhenever theymet.Hencethatgaysalutationofhersthismorning.

Clare walked on and did her errand. The vicar was also visiting the oldwoman in question, and he and Clare walked a few yards togetherafterwardsbeforetheirwaysparted.Theystoodstillforaminutediscussingparishaffairs.

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

"Disgusting,"saidClarecrisply.

"Itseemssotous,"saidMr.Wilmot,"butwemustrememberthatitisveryhardtoputourselvesinhisplaceandrealizehistemptation.Thedesirefordrinkisunaccountabletous,butweallhaveourowntemptations,andthuswecanunderstand."

"Isupposewehave,"saidClareuncertainly.

Thevicarglancedather.

"Someofushavethegoodfortunetobeverylittletempted,"hesaidgently."But even to those people their hour comes.Watch and pray, remember,thatyeenternotintotemptation."

Then bidding her goodbye, he walked briskly away. Clare went onthoughtfully,andpresentlyshealmostbumpedintoSirGeraldLee.

"Hullo,Clare. Iwashoping to run across you.You look jolly fit.What acoloryou'vegot."

Thecolorhadnotbeenthereaminutebefore.Leewenton:"AsIsay,Iwashoping to run across you. Vivien's got to go off toBournemouth for the

weekend.Hermother'snotwell.CanyoudinewithusTuesday insteadoftonight?"

"Oh,yes!Tuesdaywillsuitmejustaswell."

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

Clarewenthometofindheronefaithfuldomesticstandingonthedoorsteplookingoutforher.

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

Clare hurried to the dog's side. She adored animals, and Rover was herespecialdarling.Shefelthis legsonebyone,andthenranherhandsoverhisbody.Hegroanedonceortwiceandlickedherhand.

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

"Shallwegetthevettoseehim,Miss?"

Clareshookherhead.Shehadlittlefaithinthelocalvet.

"We'llwait until tomorrow.He doesn't seem to be in great pain, and hisgumsareagoodcolor,sotherecan'tbemuchinternalbleeding.Tomorrow,ifIdon't likethe lookofhim,I'll takehimovertoSkippington inthecarandletReeveshavealookathim.He'sfarandawaythebestman."

Onthefollowingday,Roverseemedweaker,andClaredulycarriedoutherproject.ThesmalltownofSkippingtonwasaboutfortymilesaway,a longrun,butReeves,thevetthere,wascelebratedformanymilesaround.

Hediagnosedcertaininternalinjuriesbutheldoutgoodhopesofrecovery,andClarewentawayquitecontenttoleaveRoverinhischarge.

There was only one hotel of any pretensions in Skippington, the CountyArms.Itwasmainlyfrequentedbycommercialtravelers,fortherewasnogoodhuntingcountrynearSkippington,anditwasoffthetrackofthemainroadsformotorists.

Lunchwasnotservedtilloneo'clock,andasitwantedafewminutesofthathour,Clareamusedherselfbyglancingovertheentriesintheopenvisitors'book.

Suddenlyshegaveastifledexclamation.Surelysheknewthathandwriting,with its loops and whirls and flourishes? She had always considered itunmistakable.Evennowshecouldhavesworn-butofcourseitwasclearlyimpossible.VivienLeewasatBournemouth.Theentryitselfshowedittobeimpossible:Mr.andMrs.CyrilBrown,London.

But inspiteofherselfhereyesstrayedbackagainandagaintothatcurlywriting,andonanimpulseshecouldnotquitedefinesheaskedabruptlyofthewomanintheoffice:"Mrs.CyrilBrown?Iwonder if that is thesameoneIknow?"

"Asmalllady?Reddishhair?Verypretty.Shecameinaredtwo-seatercar,madam.APeugeot,Ibelieve."

Thenitwas!Acoincidencewouldbetooremarkable.Asifinadream,sheheardthewomangoon:

"Theywereherejustoveramonthagoforaweekend,andlikeditsomuchthattheyhavecomeagain.Newlymarried,Ishouldfancy."

Clare heard herself saying: "Thank you. I don't think that could be myfriend."

Her voice sounded different, as though it belonged to someone else.Presentlyshewassittinginthediningroom,quietlyeatingcoldroastbeef,hermindamazeofconflictingthoughtandemotions.

Shehadnodoubtswhatever.ShehadsummedVivienupprettycorrectlyontheir firstmeeting. Vivien was that kind. She wonderedvaguely who themanwas.SomeoneVivienhadknownbeforehermarriage?Verylikely-itdidn'tmatter-nothingmatteredbutGerald.

Whatwasshe-Clare-todoaboutGerald?Heoughttoknow-surelyheought to know. It was clearly her duty to tell him. She had discoveredVivien'ssecretbyaccident,butshemustlosenotimeinacquaintingGeraldwiththefacts.ShewasGerald'sfriend,notVivien's.

But somehow or other she felt uncomfortable. Her conscience was notsatisfied.Onthefaceofit,herreasoningwasgood,butdutyandinclinationjumped suspiciously together. She admitted to herself that she dislikedVivien.Besides, ifGeraldLeeweretodivorcehiswife -andClarehadnodoubtsatallthatthatwasexactlywhathewoulddo,hewasamanwithanalmostfanaticalviewofhisownhonor-then-well,thewaywouldlieopenforGeraldtocometoher.Put likethat,sheshrankbackfastidiously.Herownproposedactionseemednakedandugly.

Thepersonalelemententeredintoomuch.Shecouldnotbesureofherownmotives. Clare was essentially a high-minded, conscientiouswoman. Shestrovenowveryearnestlytoseewhereherdutylay.Shewished,asshehadalwayswished,todoright.Whatwasrightinthiscase?Whatwaswrong?

Byapureaccidentshehadcomeintopossessionoffactsthataffectedvitallythemanshelovedandthewomanwhomshedislikedand-yes,onemightaswell be frank - of whom she was bitterly jealous. She could ruin thatwoman.Wasshejustifiedindoingso?

Clarehadalwaysheldherselfalooffromtheback-bitingandscandalwhichisaninevitablepartofvillagelife.Shehatedtofeelthatshenowresembledoneofthosehumanghoulsshehadalwaysprofessedtodespise.

Suddenlythevicar'swordsthatmorningflashedacrosshermind:"Eventothosepeopletheirhourcomes."

Was this her hour? Was this her temptation? Had it come insidiouslydisguised as a duty? She was Clare Halliwell, a Christian, in love andcharitywithallmen-andwomen.If shewere to tellGerald, shemustbequite sure that only impersonal motives guided her. For the present shewouldsaynothing.

She paid her bill for luncheon and drove away, feeling an indescribablelightening of spirit. Indeed, she felt happier than shehaddone for a longtime.Shefeltgladthatshehadhadthestrengthtoresisttemptation,todonothingmeanorunworthy.Justforaseconditflashedacrosshermindthatit might be a sense of power that had so lightened her spirits, but shedismissedtheideaasfantastic.

ByTuesdaynightshewasstrengthenedinherresolve.Therevelationcould

not come through her. She must keep silence. Her own secret love forGerald made speech impossible. Rather a high-minded view to take?Perhaps;butitwastheonlyonepossibleforher.

ShearrivedattheGrangeinherownlittlecar.SirGerald'schauffeurwasat thefrontdoortodrive itroundtothegarageaftershehadalighted,asthe nightwas awet one.He had just driven offwhenClare rememberedsomebookswhichshehadborrowedandhadbroughtwithher to return.Shecalledout,but themandidnothearher.Thebutlerranoutafterthecar.

So,foraminuteortwo,Clarewasaloneinthehall,closetothedoorofthedrawingroom,whichthebutlerhadjustunlatchedpriortoannouncingher.Thoseinsidetheroom,however,knewnothingofherarrival,andsoitwasthatVivien's voice, high-pitched -notquite thevoice of a lady - rang outclearlyanddistinctly.

"Oh,we'reonlywaiting forClareHalliwell.Youmustknowher - lives inthe village - supposed to be one of the local belles, but frightfullyunattractivereally.ShetriedherbesttocatchGerald,buthewasn'thavingany."

"Oh, yes, darling -" this in answer to a murmured protest from herhusband."Shedid-youmayn'tbeawareofthefact-butshedidherveryutmost.PooroldClare!Agoodsort,butsuchadump!"

Clare'sfacewentdeadwhite,herhands,hangingagainsthersides,clenchedthemselves inangersuchas shehadneverknownbefore.At thatmomentshe could havemurdered Vivien Lee. It was only by a supreme physicaleffort that she regained control of herself. That, and the half-formedthoughtthatshehelditinherpowertopunishVivienforthosecruelwords.

The butler had returnedwith the books.He opened the door,announcedher, and in anothermoment shewas greeting a roomful ofpeople in herusualpleasantmanner.

Vivien, exquisitely dressed in some dark wine color that showed off herwhite fragility,was particularly affectionate and gushing. Theydidn't seehalfenoughofClare.She,Vivien,wasgoingto learngolf,andClaremustcomeoutwithheronthelinks.

Geraldwasveryattentiveandkind.Thoughhehadno suspicion thatshehadoverheardhiswife'swords,hehadsomevagueideaofmakingupforthem.Hewas very fond ofClare, and hewishedVivienwouldn't say thethingsshedid.HeandClarehadbeenfriends,nothingmore-andiftherewasanuneasy suspicionat thebackofhismind thathewas shirking thetruthinthatlaststatement,heputitawayfromhim.

After dinner the talk fell on dogs, andClare recountedRover's accident.Shepurposelywaitedforalullintheconversationtosay:"-so,onSaturday,ItookhimtoSkippington."

SheheardthesuddenrattleofVivienLee'scoffeecuponthesaucer,butshedidnotlookather-yet.

"Toseethatman,Reeves?"

"Yes.He'llbeallright,Ithink.IhadlunchattheCountyArmsafterwards.Ratheradecentlittlepub."SheturnednowtoVivien.

"Haveyoueverstayedthere?"

Ifshehadhadanydoubts,theyweresweptaside.

Vivien'sanswercamequick-instammeringhaste.

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

Fearwasinhereyes.TheywerewideanddarkwithitastheymetClare's.Clare'seyestoldnothing.Theywerecalm,scrutinizing.Noonecouldhavedreamedofthekeenpleasurethattheyveiled.AtthatmomentClarealmostforgaveVivienforthewordsshehadoverheardearlierintheevening.Shetastedinthatmomentafullnessofpowerthatalmostmadeherheadreel.SheheldVivienLeeinthehollowofherhand.

Thefollowingday,shereceivedanotefromtheotherwoman.WouldClarecomeupandhaveteawithherquietlythatafternoon?Clarerefused.

ThenViviencalledonher.TwiceshecameathourswhenClarewasalmostcertain to be at home.On the first occasion,Clare reallywasout; on thesecond,sheslippedoutbythebackwaywhenshesawViviencomingupthe

path.

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

Clare hardly knew herself what she was waiting for. She had decided tokeepsilence- thatwastheonlystraightandhonorablecourse.She feltanadditional glow of virtue when she remembered the extreme provocationshehadreceived.AfteroverhearingthewayVivientalkedofherbehindherback, a weaker character, she felt, might have abandoned her goodresolutions.

ShewenttwicetochurchonSunday.Firsttoearlycommunion,fromwhichshecameoutstrengthenedanduplifted.Nopersonalfeelingsshouldweighwithher -nothingmeanorpetty.Shewentagain tomorning service.Mr.WilmotpreachedonthefamousprayerofthePharisee.Hesketchedthelifeof thatman, a goodman, pillar of the church.And he pictured the slow,creepingblightofspiritualpridethatdistortedandsoiledallthathewas.

Claredidnotlistenveryattentively.VivienwasinthebigsquarepewoftheLeefamily,andClareknewbyinstinctthattheotherintendedtogetholdofherafterwards.

So it fellout.Vivienattachedherself toClare,walkedhomewithher,andasked if shemightcome in.Clare,ofcourse,assented.Theysat inClare'slittle sittingroom,brightwith flowersandold-fashionedchintzes.Vivien'stalkwasdesultoryandjerky.

"IwasatBournemouth,youknow,lastweekend,"sheremarkedpresently.

"Geraldtoldmeso,"saidClare.

They looked at each other. Vivien appeared almost plain today. Her facehadasharp,foxylookthatrobbeditofmuchofitscharm.

"WhenyouwereatSkippington-"beganVivien.

"WhenIwasatSkippington?"echoedClarepolitely.

"Youwerespeakingaboutsomelittlehotelthere."

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

"I-Ihavebeenthereonce."

"Oh!"

Shehadonlytokeepstillandwait.Vivienwasquiteunfittedtobearastrainofanykind.Alreadyshewasbreakingdownunderit.Suddenlysheleanedforwardandspokevehemently.

"You don't like me. You never have. You've always hated me. You'reenjoyingyourselfnow,playingwithmelikeacatwithamouse.You'recruel-cruel.That'swhyI'mafraidofyou,becausedeepdownyou'recruel."

"Really,Vivien!"saidClaresharply.

"Youknow,don'tyou?Yes,Icanseethatyouknow.Youknewthatnight-when you spoke about Skippington. You've found out somehow.Well, Iwanttoknowwhatyouaregoingtodoaboutit.Whatareyougoingtodo?"

Claredidnotreplyforaminute,andViviensprangtoherfeet.

"Whatareyougoingtodo?Imustknow.You'renotgoingtodenythatyouknowallaboutit?"

"Idonotproposetodenyanything,"saidClarecoldly.

"Yousawmetherethatday?"

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

Vivienflusheddarkly.

"Since then," continuedClarequietly,"Ihavemade inquiries. I find thatyouwere not at Bournemouth thatweekend.Yourmother never sent foryou.Exactlythesamethinghappenedaboutsixweekspreviously."

Vivien sank down again on the sofa. She burst into furious crying, thecryingofafrightenedchild.

"Whatareyougoingtodo?"shegasped."AreyougoingtotellGerald?"

"Idon'tknowyet,"saidClare.

Shefeltcalm,omnipotent.

Viviensatup,pushingtheredcurlsbackfromherforehead.

"Wouldyouliketohearallaboutit?"

"Itwouldbeaswell,Ithink."

Vivien poured out the whole story. There was no reticence in her. Cyril'Brown',wasCyrilHaviland,ayoungengineertowhomshehadpreviouslybeenengaged.Hishealthfailed,andhelosthisjob,whereuponhemadenobonesabout jilting thepennilessVivienandmarryinga richwidowmanyyearsolderthanhimself.SoonafterwardsVivienmarriedGeraldLee.

ShehadmetCyril againby chance.Thatwas the first ofmanymeetings.Cyril, backed by his wife's money, was prospering in his career, andbecomingawellknownfigure.

Itwasa sordid story,a storyofbackstairsmeeting,of ceaseless lyingandintrigue.

"Ilovehimso,"Vivienrepeatedagainandagain,withasuddenmoan,andeachtimethewordsmadeClarefeelphysicallysick.

Atlastthestammeringrecitalcametoanend.

Vivienmutteredashamefaced:"Well?"

"WhatamIgoingtodo?"askedClare."Ican'ttellyou.Imusthavetimetothink."

"Youwon'tgivemeawaytoGerald?"

"Itmaybemydutytodoso."

"No,no."Vivien'svoicerose toahysterical shriek."He'lldivorceme.Hewon't listen to a word. He'll find out from that hotel, and Cyril will bedraggedintoit.Andthenhiswifewilldivorcehim.Everythingwillgo-his

career,hishealth-he'llbepennilessagain.He'dneverforgiveme-never."

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

Vivienpaidnoattention.

"Itellyouhe'llhateme-hateme.Ican'tbearit.Don'ttellGerald.I'lldoanythingyoulike,butdon'ttellGerald."

"Imusthavetimetodecide,"saidClaregravely."Ican'tpromiseanythingoffhand.Inthemeantime,youandCyrilmustn'tmeetagain."

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

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

Shegotup.Vivienwentoutofthehouseinafurtive,slinkingway,glancingbackoverhershoulder.

Clarewrinkledhernoseindisgust.Abeastlyaffair.WouldVivienkeepherpromisenottoseeCyril?Probablynot.Shewasweak-rottenallthrough.

That afternoon Clare went for a long walk. There was a path which ledalongthedowns.Ontheleftthegreenhillsslopedgentlydowntotheseafarbelow,whilethepathwoundsteadilyupward.ThiswalkwasknownlocallyastheEdge.Thoughsafeenoughifyoukepttothepath,itwasdangeroustowanderfromit.

Those insidious gentle slopes were dangerous. Clare had lost a dog thereonce. The animal had gone racing over the smooth grass, gainingmomentum,hadbeenunabletostopandhadgoneovertheedgeoftheclifftobedashedtopiecesonthesharprocksbelow.

The afternoon was clear and beautiful. From far below there came therippleofthesea,asoothingmurmur.Claresatdownontheshortgreenturfandstaredoutoverthebluewater.Shemust facethis thingclearly.Whatdidshemeantodo?

ShethoughtofVivienwithakindofdisgust.Howthegirlhadcrumpledup,

howabjectlyshehadsurrendered!Clarefeltarisingcontempt.Shehadnopluck-nogrit.

Nevertheless, much as she disliked Vivien, Clare decided that shewouldcontinuetospareherforthepresent.Whenshegothomeshewroteanoteto her, saying that although she could make no definite promise for thefuture,shehaddecidedtokeepsilenceforthepresent.

Lifewentonmuch the same inDaymer'sEnd. Itwasnoticed locally thatLady Lee was looking far fromwell. On the other hand, ClareHalliwellbloomed.Hereyeswerebrighter,shecarriedherheadhigher,andtherewasanewconfidenceandassuranceinhermanner.

SheandLadyLeeoftenmet,anditwasnoticedontheseoccasionsthattheyoungerwomanwatchedtheolderwithaflatteringattentiontoherslightestword.

Sometimes Miss Halliwell would make remarks that seemed a littleambiguous-notentirelyrelevanttothematterathand.Shewouldsuddenlysay that shehadchangedhermindaboutmany things lately - that itwascurioushowalittlethingmightalterentirelyone'spointofview.Onewasapttogivewaytoomuchtopity-andthatwasreallyquitewrong.

When she said things of that kind she usually looked at Lady Lee in apeculiar way, and the latter would suddenly grow quite white, and lookalmostterrified.

Butastheyeardrewon,theselittlesubtletiesbecamelessapparent.Clarecontinuedtomakethesameremarks,butLadyLeeseemedlessaffectedbythem. She began to recover her looks and spirits. Her old gay mannerreturned.

Onemorning,whenshewastakingherdogforawalk,ClaremetGeraldinalane.Thelatter'sspanielfraternizedwithRover,whilehismastertalkedtoClare.

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

"Whatsortofnews?Vivienhasn'tmentionedanythinginparticular."

"We'regoingabroad-forayear-perhapslonger.Vivien'sfedupwiththisplace.Sheneverhascared for it,youknow."Hesighed; foramoment ortwohelookeddowncast.GeraldLeewasveryproudofhishome."Anyway,I've promised her a change. I've taken a villa nearAlgiers. A wonderfulplace, by all accounts." He laughed a little self— consciously. "Quite asecondhoneymoon,eh?"

ForaminuteortwoClarecouldnotspeak.Somethingseemedtoberisingup inher throat and suffocatingher. She could see thewhitewalls of thevilla,theorangetrees,smellthesoftperfumedbreathoftheSouth.Asecondhoneymoon!

Theyweregoingtoescape.Viviennolongerbelievedinherthreats.Shewasgoingaway,carefree,gay,happy.

Clareheardherownvoice,alittlehoarseintimbre,sayingtheappropriatethings.Howlovely!Sheenviedthem!

MercifullyatthatmomentRoverandthespanieldecidedtodisagree.Inthescufflethatensued,furtherconversationwasoutofthequestion.

ThatafternoonClaresatdownandwroteanotetoVivien.Sheaskedhertomeet her on the Edge the following day, as she had something veryimportanttosaytoher.

Thenextmorningdawnedbrightandcloudless.ClarewalkedupthesteeppathoftheEdgewithalightenedheart.Whataperfectday!Shewasgladthatshehaddecidedtosaywhathadtobesaidoutintheopen,underthebluesky,insteadofinherstuffylittlesittingroom.ShewassorryforVivien,verysorryindeed,butthethinghadgottobedone.

Shesawayellowdot, likesomeyellowflowerhigherupbythesideof thepath.Asshecamenearer,itresolveditselfintothefigureofVivien,dressedinayellowknittedfrock,sittingontheshortturf,herhandsclaspedroundherknees.

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

"Is it?"saidVivien."Ihaven'tnoticed.Whatwas ityouwantedtosay tome?"

Claredroppeddownonthegrassbesideher.

"I'm quite out of breath," she said apologetically. "It's a steep pull uphere."

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

Clarelookedshocked,andVivienhastilyrecanted.

"Ididn'tmeanthat.I'msorry,Clare.Iamindeed.Only-mynervesarealltopieces,andyoursittinghereandtalkingabouttheweather-well,itgotmeallrattled."

"You'llhaveanervousbreakdownifyou'renotcareful,"saidClarecoldly.

Viviengaveashortlaugh.

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

Clarewas silent for amoment, then she spoke, looking not atVivienbutsteadilyoutoverthesea.

"IthoughtitonlyfairtowarnyouthatIcannolongerkeepsilenceabout-aboutwhathappenedlastyear."

"Youmean-you'llgotoGeraldwiththatstory?"

"Unlessyou'lltellhimyourself.Thatwouldbeinfinitelythebetterway."

Vivienlaughedsharply.

"YouknowwellenoughIhaven'tgottheplucktodothat."

Claredidnotcontradicttheassertion.ShehadhadproofbeforeofVivien'sutterlycraventemper.

"Itwouldbeinfinitelybetter,"sherepeated.

AgainViviengavethatshort,uglylaugh.

"It'syourpreciousconscience, I suppose, thatdrivesyou todo this?"shesneered.

"I dare say it seems very strange to you," said Clare quietly. "But ithonestlyisthat."

Vivien'swhite,setfacestaredintohers.

"MyGod!"shesaid."Ireallybelieveyoumeanit, too.Youactually thinkthat'sthereason."

"Itisthereason."

"No,itisn't.Ifso,you'dhavedoneitbefore-longago.Whydidn'tyou?

No,don'tanswer.I'lltellyou.Yougotmorepleasureoutofholdingitoverme-that'swhy.Youlikedtokeepmeontenterhooks,andmakemewinceand squirm.You'd say things -diabolical things - just to tormentmeandkeepmeperpetuallyonthejump.Andsotheydidforabit-tillIgotusedtothem."

"Yougottofeelsecure,"saidClare.

"You saw that, didn't you? But even then, you held back, enjoying yoursenseofpower.Butnowwe'regoingaway,escapingfromyou,perhapsevengoingtobehappy-youcouldn'tstickthatatanyprice.Soyourconvenientconsciencewakesup!"

She stopped, panting.Clare said, still very quietly:"I can't prevent yoursayingallthesefantasticalthings,butIcanassureyouthey'renottrue."

Vivienturnedsuddenlyandcaughtherbythehand.

"Clare - forGod's sake! I'vebeenstraight - I'vedonewhatyousaid. I'venotseenCyrilagain-Iswearit."

"That'snothingtodowithit."

"Clare-haven'tyouanypity-anykindness?I'llgodownonmyknees toyou."

"TellGeraldyourself.Ifyoutellhim,hemayforgiveyou."

Vivienlaughedscornfully.

"YouknowGeraldbetterthanthat.He'llberabid-vindictive.He'llmakemesuffer-he'llmakeCyrilsuffer.That'swhatIcan'tbear.Listen,Clare-he'sdoingsowell.He'sinventedsomething-machinery,Idon'tunderstandabout it,but itmaybeawonderfulsuccess.He'sworking itoutnow-hiswifesuppliesthemoneyforit,ofcourse.Butshe'ssuspicious-jealous.Ifshefinds out, and shewill find out ifGerald starts proceedings for divorce -she'llchuckCyril-hiswork,everything.Cyrilwillberuined."

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

"Gerald?Idon'tcarethat-"shesnappedherfingers-"forGerald.Ineverhave.Wemight aswell have the truth nowwe're at it. But I do care forCyril.I'marotter,throughandthrough,Iadmitit.Idaresayhe'sarotter,too.Butmyfeelingforhim-thatisn'trotten.I'ddieforhim,doyouhear?I'ddieforhim!"

"Thatiseasilysaid,"saidClarederisively.

"You think I'm not in earnest? Listen, if you go on with this beastlybusiness,I'llkillmyself.SoonerthanhaveCyrilbroughtintoitandruined,I'ddothat."

Clareremainedunimpressed.

"Youdon'tbelieveme?"saidVivien,panting.

"Suicideneedsalotofcourage."

Vivienflinchedbackasthoughshehadbeenstruck.

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

"There'saneasywayinfrontofyou,"saidClare."You'veonlygottorunstraightdownthegreenslope.Itwouldbeallover inacoupleofminutes.Rememberthatchildlastyear."

"Yes," saidVivien thoughtfully."Thatwouldbe easy -quite easy - if onereallywantedto-"

Clarelaughed.

Vivienturnedtoher.

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

Claregotup.

"I advise you," she said, "to tell your husband yourself... Otherwise - Ishall."

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

Shegotup-stoodstillasthoughconsideringforaminuteortwo,thenranlightlydowntothepath,butinsteadofstopping,crosseditandwentdowntheslope.

Onceshehalf turnedherheadandwavedahandgaily toClare, thensheranongaily,lightly,asachildmightrun,outofsight...

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

Shepickedherwaystifflydowntothepath.Aboutahundredyardsawayapartyofpeoplecomingupithadstopped.Theywerestaringandpointing.Clarerandownandjoinedthem.

"Yes,Miss, someone's fallen over the cliff.Twomenhave gonedown - tosee."

Shewaited.Wasitanhour,oreternity,oronlyafewminutes?

Amancame toilingup theascent. Itwas thevicar inhis shirtsleeves.Hiscoathadbeentakenofftocoverwhatlaybelow.

"Horrible,"hesaid,hisfaceverywhite."Mercifully,deathmusthavebeeninstantaneous."

HesawClare,andcameovertoher.

"This must have been a terrible shock to you. You were taking a walktogether,Iunderstand?"

Clareheardherselfansweringmechanically.

Yes.Theyhadjustparted.No,LadyLee'smannerhadbeenquitenormal.Oneofthegroupinterposedtheinformationthattheladywaslaughingandwavingherhand.A terriblydangerousplace - thereought tobea railingalongthepath.

Thevicar'svoiceroseagain.

"Anaccident-yes,clearlyanaccident."

And then suddenly Clare laughed - a hoarse, raucous laugh that echoedalongthecliff.

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

Shefeltsomeonepattinghershoulder,avoicespokesoothingly.

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

But Clare was not all right presently. She was never all right again. Shepersisted in thedelusion-certainlyadelusion,sinceat leasteightpersonshadwitnessedthescene-thatshehadkilledVivienLee.

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

"Humorthem,poorthings,"shewouldsaycomfortably.

SoshetoldClarethatshewasawardressfromPentonvillePrison.Clare'ssentence, shesaid,hadbeencommutedtopenalservitude for life.Aroomwasfittedupasacell.

"Andnow, I think,we shallbequitehappyandcomfortable," saidNurseLauriston to the doctor. "Round-bladed knives if you like, doctor, but Idon't think there's the least fear of suicide. She's not the type. Too self-centered.Funnyhow those are often the oneswho goover the edgemosteasily."

CHRISTMASADVENTURE

Thebig logscrackledmerrily in thewide,open fireplace,andabove theircrackling rose thebabel of six tongues allwagging industriously together.Thehouse-partyofyoungpeoplewereenjoyingtheirChristmas.

OldMissEndicott,known tomostof thosepresentasAuntEmily,smiledindulgentlyontheclatter.

'Betyouyoucan'teatsixmince-pies,Jean.'

'Yes,Ican.'

'No,youcan't.'

'You'llgetthepigoutofthetrifleifyoudo.'

'Yes,andthreehelpsoftrifle,andtwohelpsofplum-pudding.'

'Ihopethepuddingwillbegood,'saidMissEndicottapprehensively.

'Buttheywereonlymadethreedaysago.ChristmaspuddingsoughttobemadealongtimebeforeChristmas.Why,IrememberwhenIwasachild,IthoughtthelastCollectbeforeAdvent-"Stirup,OLord,webeseechThee..."-referredinsomewaytostirringuptheChristmaspuddings!'

TherewasapolitepausewhileMissEndicottwasspeaking.Notbecauseanyof the young people were in the least interested in her reminiscences ofbygonedays,butbecausetheyfeltthatsomeshowofattentionwasduebygoodmannerstotheirhostess.Assoonasshestopped, thebabelburstoutagain.MissEndicott sighed,andglanced towards theonlymemberof thepartywhoseyearsapproachedherown,asthoughinsearchofsympathy-alittle man with a curious egg— shaped head and fierce upstandingmoustaches.Youngpeoplewerenotwhattheywere,reflectedMissEndicott.Inoldendays therewouldhavebeenamute, respectful circle, listening tothepearlsofwisdomdroppedbytheirelders.Insteadofwhichtherewasallthisnonsensical chatter,mostof itutterly incomprehensible.All the same,theyweredearchildren!Hereyessoftenedasshepassedtheminreview-

tall, freckled Jean; little NancyCardell, with her dark, gipsybeauty; thetwo younger boys home from school, Johnnie and Eric, and their friend,CharliePease;andfair,beautifulEvelynHaworth...Atthoughtofthelast,her brow contracted a little, and her eyeswandered to where her eldestnephew,Roger,satmoroselysilent,takingnopartinthefun,withhiseyesfixedontheexquisiteNorthernfairnessoftheyounggirl.

'Isn't the snow ripping?' cried Johnnie, approaching the window. 'RealChristmasweather. I say, let's have a snowball fight. There's lots of timebeforedinner,isn'tthere,AuntEmily?'

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

Shehurriedoutoftheroom.

'Itellyouwhat.We'llmakeasnowman!'screamedJean.

'Yes,whatfun!Iknow;we'lldoasnowstatueofM.Poirot.Doyouhear,M.Poirot? The great detective, Hercule Poirot, modelled in snow, by sixcelebratedartists!'

The littleman in the chairbowedhis acknowledgementswitha twinklingeye.

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

'Ra-ther!'

The troop disappeared like a whirlwind, colliding in the doorway with astatelybutlerwhowasenteringwithanoteonasalver.Thebutler,hiscalmre-established,advancedtowardsPoirot.

Poirottookthenoteandtoreitopen.Thebutlerdeparted.Twicethe littlemanreadthenotethrough,thenhefoldeditupandputitinhispocket.Nota muscle of his face had moved, and yet the contents of the note weresufficientlysurprising.Scrawledinanilliteratehandwerethewords:'Don'teatanyplum-pudding.'

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

Helookedacrosstothefireplace.EvelynHaworthhadnotgoneoutwiththerest. She was sitting staring at the fire, absorbed in thought, nervouslytwistingaringonthethirdfingerofherlefthandroundandround.

'Youarelostinadream,Mademoiselle,'saidthelittlemanatlast.'Andthedreamisnotahappyone,eh?'

Shestarted,andlookedacrossathimuncertainly.Henoddedreassuringly.

'Itismybusinesstoknowthings.No,youarenothappy.Me,too,Iamnotveryhappy.Shallweconfideineachother?Seeyou,Ihavethebigsorrowbecauseafriendofmine,afriendofmanyyears,hasgoneawayacrossthesea to the SouthAmerica. Sometimes,whenwewere together, this friendmademeimpatient,hisstupidityenragedme;butnowthatheisgone,Icanrememberonlyhisgoodqualities.Thatisthewayoflife,isitnot?Andnow,Mademoiselle,what is your trouble?Youarenot likeme, old and alone -youareyoungandbeautiful;andthemanyoulovelovesyou-ohyes,itisso:Ihavebeenwatchinghimforthelasthalf-hour.'

Thegirl'scolourrose.

'You mean Roger Endicott? Oh, but you have made a mistake; it is notRogerIamengagedto.'

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

Thegirldidnotseemtoresenthiswords;indeed,therewassomethinginhismannerwhichmadethatimpossible.Hespokewithamixtureofkindlinessandauthoritythatwasirresistible.

'Tellmeall about it,' saidPoirot gently; andhe added thephrasehehadusedbefore,thesoundofwhichwasoddlycomfortingtothegirl.

'Itismybusinesstoknowthings.'

'I am somiserable,M.Poirot - so verymiserable.You see, oncewewereverywelloff.Iwassupposedtobeanheiress,andRogerwasonlyayoungerson;and-andalthoughI'msurehecaredforme,heneversaidanything,butwentofftoAustralia.'

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

Evelyncontinued.

'Then suddenlywe lost all ourmoney.Mymother and Iwere left almostpenniless.Wemovedintoatinyhouse,andwecouldjustmanage.Butmymother became very ill. The only chance for her was to have a seriousoperationandgoabroadtoawarmclimate.Andwehadn'tthemoney,M.Poirot-wehadn'tthemoney!Itmeantthatshemustdie.MrLeveringhadproposedtomeonceortwicealready.Heagainaskedmetomarryhim,andpromised todo everything that couldbedone formymother. I said yes -whatelsecouldIdo?Hekepthisword.Theoperationwasperformedbythegreatestspecialistoftheday,andwewenttoEgyptforthewinter.Thatwasayearago.Mymotheriswellandstrongagain;andI-IamtomarryMrLeveringafterChristmas.'

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

'AHaworthdoesnotbreakherword,M.Poirot,'saidthegirlproudly.

Almostasshespoke,thedooropened,andabigmanwitharubicundface,narrow,craftyeyes,andabaldheadstoodonthethreshold.

'Whatareyoumopinginherefor,Evelyn?Comeoutforastroll.'

'Verywell,Oscar.'

She rose listlessly. Poirot rose also and demanded politely: 'MademoiselleLevering,sheisstillindisposed?'

'Yes, I'm sorry to saymy sister is still in bed. Too bad, to be laid up onChristmasDay.'

'Itisindeed,'agreedthedetectivepolitely.

A few minutes sufficed for Evelyn to put on her snow-boots and somewraps,andsheandher fiancéwentout into thesnow-coveredgrounds.It

wasan idealChristmasDay, crispandsunny.Therestof the house-partywerebusywiththeerectionofthesnowman.LeveringandEvelynpausedtowatchthem.

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

'Whatdoyouthinkofit,Evelyn?'criedJean.'M.HerculePoirot,thegreatdetective.'

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

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

'Oh, oh, oh!' cried Jean, dancing about. 'I've got an idea. Let's get up amurder-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,andthe lightson, illuminating the long tablepiledhighwithcrackers and other decorations. It was a real old-fashioned Christmasdinner. At one end of the table was the Squire, red-faced and jovial; hissister faced him at the other. M. Poirot, in honour of the occasion, haddonnedaredwaistcoat,andhisplumpness,andthewayhecarriedhisheadononeside,remindedoneirresistiblyofarobinredbreast.

TheSquirecarvedrapidly,andeveryonefelltoonturkey.Thecarcassesoftwoturkeyswereremoved,andthere fellabreathlesshush.ThenGraves,the butler, appeared in state, bearing the plum-pudding aloft - a giganticpuddingwreathedinflames.Ahullabaloobrokeout.

'Quick.Oh!mypieceisgoingout.Buckup,Graves;unlessit'sstillburning,Ishan'tgetmywish.'

NobodyhadleisuretonoticeacuriousexpressiononthefaceofM.Poirotashe surveyed the portion of pudding on his plate. Nobody observed thelightning glance he sent round the table.With a faint,puzzled frown hebegan to eat his pudding. Everybody began to eat pudding. Theconversation was more subdued. Suddenly the Squire uttered anexclamation.Hisfacebecamepurpleandhishandwenttohismouth.

'Confoundit,Emily!'heroared. 'Whydoyouletthecookputglass in thepuddings?'

'Glass?'criedMissEndicott,astonished.

TheSquirewithdrewtheoffendingsubstancefromhismouth.

'Might have broken a tooth,' he grumbled. 'Or swallowed it and hadappendicitis.'

Infrontofeachpersonwasasmallfinger-bowlofwater,designedtoreceivethesixpencesandothermattersfoundinthetrifle.MrEndicottdroppedthepieceofglassintothis,rinseditandhelditup.

'Godblessmysoul!'heejaculated.'It'saredstoneoutofoneofthecrackerbrooches.'

'Youpermit?'Verydeftly,M.Poirottookitfromhisfingersandexamineditattentively.As theSquirehad said, itwasabig red stone, the colour of aruby.Thelightgleamedfromitsfacetsasheturneditabout.

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

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

'Extraordinaryhowwelltheygetupthesecrackerthings,'murmuredMissEndicott.'Buthowdiditgetintothepudding?''

Undoubtedly that was the question of the hour. Every hypothesis was

exhausted.OnlyM.Poirotsaidnothing,butcarelessly,as though thinkingofsomethingelse,hedroppedthestoneintohispocket.

Afterdinnerhepaidavisittothekitchen.

Thecookwasratherflustered.Tobequestionedbyamemberofthehouse-party, and the foreign gentleman too! But she did her best toanswer hisquestions.Thepuddingshadbeenmadethreedaysago-

'Thedayyouarrived,Sir.'Everyonehadcomeoutintothekitchentohaveastir andwish.An old custom - perhaps theydidn't have itabroad?Afterthatthepuddingswereboiled,andthentheywereputinarowonthetopshelf in the larder.Was there anything special todistinguish this puddingfromtheothers?No,shedidn'tthinkso.Exceptthatitwasinanaluminiumpudding-basin, and the others were in china ones. Was it the puddingoriginally intended for ChristmasDay? It was funny that he should askthat.No,indeed!TheChristmaspuddingwasalwaysboiled inabigwhitechina mould with a pattern of holly-leaves. But this very morning (thecook'sredfacebecamewrathful)Gladys,thekitchen-maid,senttofetchitdown for the final boiling, had managed to drop and break it. 'And ofcourse,seeingthattheremightbesplintersinit,Iwouldn'tsendittotable,buttookthebigaluminiumoneinstead.'

M. Poirot thanked her for her information. He went out of the kitchen,smilinga little tohimself, as though satisfiedwith the informationhehadobtained. And the fingers of his right hand playedwith something in hispocket.

II

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

ThusJohnnieintheearlyhoursofthefollowingmorning.M.Poirotsatupin bed. He wore a nightcap. The contrast between the dignity of hiscountenanceandtherakishtiltof thenightcapwascertainlydroll;but itseffect on Johnnie seemed disproportionate. But for his words, onemighthave fancied that theboywasviolentlyamusedaboutsomething.Curioussoundscame fromoutside thedoor, too,suggesting soda-water syphons indifficulty.

'Comedownatonce,please,'continuedJohnnie,hisvoiceshakingslightly.'Someone'sbeenkilled.'Heturnedaway.

'Aha,thatisserious!'saidM.Poirot.

Hearose,and,withoutundulyhurryinghimself,madeapartialtoilet.ThenhefollowedJohnniedownthestairs.Thehouse-partywasclusteredroundthedoorintothegarden.Theircountenancesallexpressedintenseemotion.AtsightofhimEricwasseizedwithaviolentchokingfit.

JeancameforwardandlaidherhandonM.Poirot'sarm.

'Look!'shesaid,andpointeddramaticallythroughtheopendoor.

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

Hisremarkwasnotinapposite.Moresnowhadfallenduringthenight,theworld looked white and ghostly in the faint light of the early dawn.Theexpanseofwhitelayunbrokensaveforwhatlookedlikeonsplashofvividscarlet.

Nancy Cardell lay motionless on the snow. She was clad in scarlet silkpyjamas, her small feetwere bare, her armswere spreadwide.Herheadwas turned aside and hidden by the mass of her clustering black hair.Deadlystillshelay,andfromherleftsideroseupthehiltofadagger,whilstonthesnowtherewasanever-wideningpatchofcrimson.

Poirotwentoutintothesnow.Hedidnotgotowherethegirl'sbodylay,butkept to thepath.Twotracksof footmarks,aman'sandawoman's, led towhere the tragedy had occurred. Theman's footprintswent away in theopposite direction alone. Poirot stood on the path, stroking his chinreflectively.

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's all a joke, you know - got up between us - just to pull your leg.Nancy'sonlyshamming.'

M.Poirotregardedhimwithoutvisibleemotion,savethathiseyestwinkledamoment.

'Youmockyourselvesatme,isthatit?'heinquiredplacidly.

'Isay,I'mawfullysorryreally.Weshouldn'thavedoneit.Beastlybadtaste.Iapologize,Ireallydo.'

'Youneednotapologize,'saidtheotherinapeculiarvoice.

Johnnieturned.

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

Butthefigureonthegrounddidnotmove.

'Getup,'criedJohnnieagain.

StillNancydidnotmove, and suddenly a feeling of namelessdread cameovertheboy.HeturnedtoPoirot.

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

'Comewithme,'saidPoirotcurtly.

Hestrodeoverthesnow.Hehadwavedtheothersback,andhewascarefulnot to infringe on the other footmarks. The boy followed him, frightenedandunbelieving.Poirotkneltdownbythegirl,thenhesignedtoJohnnie.

'Feelherhandandpulse.'

Wondering,theboybentdown,thenstartedbackwithacry.Thehandandarmwerestiffandcold,andnovestigeofapulsewastobefound.

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

M.Poirotpassedoverthefirstpartofthequestion.

'Why?'hesaidmusingly.'Iwonder.'Then,suddenlyleaningacrossthedeadgirl'sbody,heunclaspedherotherhand,whichwas tightlyclenched oversomething. Both he and the boy uttered an exclamation. In the palm ofNancy'shandwasaredstonethatwinkedandflashedforthfire.

'Aha!'criedM.Poirot.Swiftasaflashhishandflewtohispocket,andcameawayempty.

'Thecrackerruby,'saidJohnniewonderingly.Then,ashiscompanionbenttoexaminethedagger,andthestainedsnow,hecriedout:'Surelyitcan'tbeblood,M.Poirot.It'spaint.It'sonlypaint.'

Poirotstraightenedhimself.

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

'Thenhow-'Theboybrokeoff.Poirotfinishedthesentenceforhim.

'Howwasshekilled?Thatwemustfindout.Didsheeatordrinkanythingthismorning?'

Hewasretracinghisstepstothepathwheretheotherswaitedashespoke.Johnniewasclosebehindhim.

'Shehadacupoftea,'saidtheboy.'MrLeveringmadeitforher.He'sgotaspirit-lampinhisroom.'

Johnnie'svoicewasloudandclear.Leveringheardthewords.

'Alwaystakeaspirit-lampaboutwithme,'hedeclared.'Mosthandythingin the world.My sister's been glad enough of it this visit - not liking toworrytheservantsallthetimeyouknow.'

M.Poirot's eyes fell, almost apologetically as it seemed, toMrLevering'sfeet,whichwereencasedincarpetslippers.

'Youhavechangedyourboots,Isee,'hemurmuredgently.

Leveringstaredathim.

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

'Thereisonlyonethingtobedone,asIsaidjustnow,Mademoiselle.Sendforthepolice.'

'I'llgo,'criedLevering.'Itwon'ttakemeaminutetoputonmyboots.Youpeoplehadbetternotstayouthereinthecold.'

Hedisappearedintothehouse.

'Heissothoughtful, thatMrLevering,'murmuredPoirotsoftly. 'Shallwetakehisadvice?'

'Whataboutwakingfatherand-andeverybody?'

'No,'saidM.Poirotsharply.'Itisquiteunnecessary.Untilthepolicecome,nothingmustbetouchedouthere;soshallwegoinside?Tothelibrary?Ihavealittlehistorytorecounttoyouwhichmaydistractyourmindsfromthissadtragedy.'

Heledtheway,andtheyfollowedhim.

'The story is about a ruby,' said M. Poirot, ensconcing himself in acomfortable armchair. 'A very celebrated ruby which belonged to a verycelebratedman.Iwillnottellyouhisname-butheisoneofthegreatonesoftheearth.Ehbien,thisgreatman,hearrivedinLondon,incognito.Andsince, though a great man, he was also a young and a foolish man, hebecameentangledwithaprettyyounglady.Theprettyyounglady,shedidnotcaremuchfortheman,butshedidcareforhispossessions-somuchsothatshedisappearedonedaywiththehistoricrubywhichhadbelongedtohishouseforgenerations.Thepooryoungman,hewasinaquandary.HeisshortlytobemarriedtoanoblePrincess,andhedoesnotwantthescandal.Impossible to go to the police, he comes to me, Hercule Poirot, instead."Recover for memy ruby," he says. Eh bien, I know something of thisyoung lady. Shehas a brother, and between them they have put throughmany a clever coup. I happen to know where they are staying forChristmas.BythekindnessofMrEndicott,whomIchancetohavemet,I,too, become a guest. But when this pretty young lady hears that I amarriving,sheisgreatlyalarmed.Sheisintelligent,andsheknowsthatIamaftertheruby.Shemusthide it immediately inasafeplace;andfigure toyourselfwhereshehidesit-inaplum-pudding!Yes,youmaywellsay,oh!Sheisstirringwiththerest,yousee,andshepopsitintoapudding-bowlofaluminium that is different from the others. By a strange chance, thatpuddingcametobeusedonChristmasDay.'

Thetragedyforgottenforthemoment,theystaredathimopen—mouthed.

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

Evelynrosewithacry,hereyesfixedonPoirot.

'AndIalsofancythattheywillnotreturn.OscarLeveringhasbeensailingclosetothewindforalongtime,andthisistheend.Heandhissisterwillpursue their activities abroad for a time under a different name. Ialternately temptedand frightenedhim thismorning.Bycasting aside allpretencehecouldgainpossessionof therubywhilstwewere in thehouseand he was supposed to be fetching the police.But it meant burning hisboats.Still,withacasebeingbuiltupagainsthimformurder,flightseemedclearlyindicated.'

'DidhekillNancy?'whisperedJean.

Poirotrose.

'Supposingwevisitoncemorethesceneofthecrime,'hesuggested.

Heledtheway,andtheyfollowedhim.Butasimultaneousgaspbrokefromtheir lips as they passed outside the house. No trace of the tragedyremained;thesnowwassmoothandunbroken.

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

'Most extraordinary,' said M. Poirot, 'The Mystery of the DisappearingBody.'Hiseyestwinkledgently.

Jeancameuptohiminsuddensuspicion.

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

'It is true, my children. I knew about your little plot, you see, and Iarrangedalittlecounterplotofmyown.Ah,hereisMlleNancy-andnonetheworse,Ihope,afterhermagnificentactingofthecomedy.'

Itwas indeedNancyCardell in the flesh, her eyes shining and herwholepersonexuberantwithhealthandvigour.

'Youhavenotcaughtcold?YoudrankthetisaneIsenttoyourroom?'

demandedPoirotaccusingly.

'I took one sip and that was enough. I'm all right. Did I do it well, M.Poirot?Oh,myarmhurtsafterthattourniquet!'

'Youweresplendid,petite.Butshallweexplaintotheothers?Theyarestillinthefog,Iperceive.Seeyou,mesenfants,IwenttoMlleNancy, toldherthatIknewallaboutyourlittlecomplot,andaskedherifshewouldactapartforme.Shediditverycleverly.SheinducedMrLeveringtomakehera cupof tea, andalsomanaged thathe shouldbe the one chosen to leavefootprintsonthesnow.Sowhenthetimecame,andhethoughtthatbysomefatality shewas really dead, I hadall thematerials to frighten himwith.Whathappenedafterwewentintothehouse,Mademoiselle?'

'Hecamedownwithhissister, snatchedtherubyoutofmyhand,andofftheywentpost-haste.'

'ButIsay,M.Poirot,whatabouttheruby?'criedEric.'Doyoumeantosayyou'veletthemhavethat?'

Poirot'sfacefell,ashefacedacircleofaccusingeyes.

'I shall recover it yet,' he said feebly; but he perceived that he had gonedownintheirestimation.

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

ButJeanwassharper.

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

'Feelinmyleft-handpocket,Mademoiselle.'

Jean thrust in an eager hand, and drew it out again with a squeal oftriumph.Sheheldaloftthegreatrubyinitscrimsonsplendour.

'Yousee,'explainedPoirot,'theotherwasapastereplicaIbroughtwithmefromLondon.'

'Isn'theclever?'demandedJeanecstatically.

'There'sonethingyouhaven'ttoldus,'saidJohnniesuddenly.'Howdidyou

knowabouttherag?DidNancytellyou?'

Poirotshookhishead.

'Thenhowdidyouknow?'

'It is my business to know things,' said M. Poirot, smiling a little as hewatched Evelyn Haworth and Roger Endicott walking down the pathtogether.

'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. Poirot shook his head perplexedly. At the same moment he becameawareofapeculiargaspingsoundverynearhisfeet.Helookeddownandperceivedasmallcreatureinaprintdress.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'tillabit-wecouldalltellthat.SoIthoughtsomethingqueerwasgoingon,andI'lltellyoustraight,Sir,Ilistenedatthedoor,andIheardhimsayasplainasplain,"ThisfellowPoirotmustbegotoutofthewayassoon as possible."And thenhe says to 'er,meaning-like, "Where did youput it?"Andsheanswers,"In thepudding."And so I saw theymeant topoisonyouintheChristmaspudding,andIdidn'tknowwhattodo.Cookwouldn'tlistentothelikesofme.AndthenIthoughtofwritingawarning,andIputitinthe'allwhereMrGraveswouldbesuretoseeitandtakeittoyou.'

Anniepausedbreathless.Poirotsurveyedhergravelyforsomeminutes.

'You read toomany novelettes, Annie,' he said at last. 'But you have thegoodheart,andacertainamountofintelligence.WhenIreturntoLondonIwillsendyouanexcellentbookuponleménage,alsotheLivesoftheSaints,

andaworkupontheeconomicpositionofwoman.'

LeavingAnniegaspinganew,heturnedandcrossedthehall.Hehadmeanttogointothelibrary,butthroughtheopendoorhesawadarkheadandafairone,veryclosetogether,andhepausedwherehestood.Suddenlyapairofarmsslippedroundhisneck.

'Ifyouwillstandjustunderthemistletoe!'saidJean.

'Metoo,'saidNancy.

M.Poirotenjoyeditall-heenjoyeditverymuchindeed.

THELONELYGOD

He stood on a shelf in the BritishMuseum, alone and forlorn amongst acompanyofobviouslymoreimportantdeities.Rangedroundthefourwalls,these greater personages all seemed to display anoverwhelming sense oftheirownsuperiority.Thepedestalofeachwasdulyinscribedwiththelandandracethathadbeenproudtopossesshim.Therewasnodoubtoftheirposition;theyweredivinitiesofimportanceandrecognizedassuch.

Onlythelittlegodinthecornerwasaloofandremotefromtheircompany.Roughlyhewnoutofgrey stone,his featuresalmost totallyobliterated bytimeandexposure,hesatthereinisolation,hiselbowsonhisknees,andhisheadburiedinhishands;alonelylittlegodinastrangecountry.

Therewasno inscription to tell the landwhencehe came.Hewas indeedlost,withouthonororrenown,apathetic little figurevery far fromhome.Noonenoticedhim,noonestoppedto lookathim.Whyshould they?Hewassoinsignificant,ablockofgreystoneinacorner.Oneithersideofhimwere two Mexican gods worn smooth with age, placid idols with foldedhands, and cruel mouths curved in a smile that showed openly theircontemptofhumanity.Therewasalsoarotund,violentlyself-assertivelittlegod,withaclenchedfist,whoevidentlysufferedfromaswollensenseofhisown importance, but passers-by stopped to give him a glance sometimes,evenifitwasonlytolaughatthecontrastofhisabsurdpompositywiththesmilingindifferenceofhisMexicancompanions.

Andthe little lostgodsatontherehopelessly,hishead inhishands,ashehadsatyearinandyearout,tillonedaytheimpossiblehappened,andhefound-aworshipper.

II

"Anylettersforme?"

The hall porter removed a packet of letters from a pigeonhole, gave acursoryglancethroughthem,andsaidinawoodenvoice:"Nothingforyou,sir."

Frank Oliver sighed as he walked out of the club again. There was noparticular reasonwhy there shouldhavebeenanything forhim.Very fewpeoplewrotetohim.EversincehehadreturnedfromBurmainthespring,hehadbecomeconsciousofagrowingandincreasingloneliness.

FrankOliverwasamanjustover forty,and the lasteighteenyearsofhislife had been spent in various parts of the globe, with brief furloughs inEngland.

Nowthathehadretiredandcomehometoliveforgood,herealizedforthefirsttimehowverymuchaloneintheworldhewas.

True, therewas his sisterGreta,married to a Yorkshire clergyman,verybusywithparochialdutiesandthebringingupofafamilyofsmallchildren.Gretawasnaturallyveryfondofheronlybrother,butequallynaturallyshehadverylittletimetogivehim.ThentherewashisoldfriendTomHurley.Tom was married to a nice, bright, cheerful girl, very energetic andpractical,ofwhomFrankwassecretlyafraid.Shetoldhimbrightlythathemustnotbeacrabbedoldbachelor,andwasalwaysproducing"nicegirls."FrankOliverfoundthatheneverhadanythingtosaytothese"nicegirls";theyperseveredwithhimforawhile,thengavehimupashopeless.

And yet he was not really unsociable. He had a great longing forcompanionshipandsympathy,andeversincehehadbeenbackinEnglandhehadbecomeawareofagrowingdiscouragement.Hehadbeenawaytoolong, he was out of tune with the times. He spent long, aimless dayswanderingabout,wonderingwhatonearthhewastodowithhimselfnext.

ItwasononeofthesedaysthathestrolledintotheBritishMuseum.Hewasinterested in Asiatic curiosities, and so it was that he chanced upon the

lonelygod.Itscharmheldhimatonce.Herewassomethingvaguelyakintohimself; here, too, was someone lost and astray in a strange land. HebecameinthehabitofpayingfrequentvisitstotheMuseum,justtoglanceinonthelittlegreystonefigure,initsobscureplaceonthehighshelf.

"Roughluckonthelittlechap,"hethoughttohimself."Probablyhadalotof fussmadeabouthimonce,kowtowingandofferingsandall therest ofit."

Hehadbegun to feel suchaproprietary right inhis little friend (it reallyalmostamountedtoasenseofactualownership)thathewasinclinedtoberesentfulwhenhefoundthatthelittlegodhadmadeasecondconquest.Hehaddiscoveredthelonelygod;nobodyelse,hefelt,hadarighttointerfere.

Butafterthefirstflashofindignation,hewasforcedtosmileathimself.Forthis secondworshipperwas such a little bit of a thing, such a ridiculous,patheticcreature,inashabbyblackcoatandskirtthathadseentheirbestdays.Shewasyoung,alittleovertwentyheshouldjudge,withfairhairandblueeyes,andawistfuldrooptohermouth.

Her hat especially appealed to his chivalry. She had evidently trimmed itherself,and itmade suchabraveattempt tobe smart that its failurewaspathetic.Shewasobviouslya lady, thoughapoverty-strickenone, and heimmediatelydecidedinhisownmindthatshewasagovernessandaloneintheworld.

He soon found out that her days for visiting the god were Tuesdays andFridays,andshealwaysarrivedatteno'clock,assoonastheMuseumwasopen.At firsthedislikedher intrusion,but littleby little itbegantoformone of the principal interests of his monotonous life. Indeed, the fellowdevotee was fast ousting the object of devotion from his position ofpreeminence.Thedaysthathedidnotseethe"LittleLonelyLady,"ashecalledhertohimself,wereblank.

Perhapsshe, too,wasequally interested inhim, thoughsheendeavored toconceal the fact with studious unconcern. But little by little a sense offellowship was slowly growing between them, though as yet they hadexchangednospokenword.Thetruthofthematterwas, themanwastooshy! He argued to himself that very likely shehad not even noticed him

(someinnersensegavethelietothatinstantly),thatshewouldconsideritagreatimpertinence,and,finally,thathehadnottheleastideawhattosay.

ButFate,orthelittlegod,waskind,andsenthimaninspiration-orwhatheregardedassuch.Withinfinitedelightinhisowncunning,hepurchasedawoman'shandkerchief, a frail little affairof cambricand lacewhich healmost feared to touch,and, thusarmed,he followedheras shedeparted,andstoppedherintheEgyptianroom.

"Excuseme,butisthisyours?"Hetriedtospeakwithairyunconcern,andsignallyfailed.

TheLonelyLadytookit,andmadeapretenceofexaminingitwithminutecare.

"No, it is not mine." She handed it back, and added, with what he 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, if shehadnoticedhispronoun, shedidnot resent it.Shehad

been startled into sympathy, and his quiet "Of course!" seemed themostnaturalrejoinderintheworld.

Again there was a silence, but this time it was a silence born ofunderstanding.

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

She drew herself up to her full height, and with an almost ridiculousassumptionofdignityforsosmallaperson,sheobservedinchillingaccents:"Imustbegoingnow.Goodmorning."Andwithaslight,stiffinclinationofherhead,shewalkedaway,holdingherselfveryerect.

III

By all acknowledged standards FrankOliver ought to have felt rebuffed,butitisaregrettablesignofhisrapidadvanceindepravitythathemerelymurmuredtohimself:"Littledarling!"

Hewassoontorepentofhistemerity,however.Fortendayshislittle ladynever came near theMuseum.Hewas in despair!He had frightened heraway! She would never come back! He was a brute, avillain! He wouldneverseeheragain!

In his distress he haunted the British Museum all day long. She mightmerely have changed her time of coming. He soon began to know theadjacentroomsbyheart,andhecontracteda lastinghatredofmummies.TheguardianpolicemanobservedhimwithsuspicionwhenhespentthreehoursporingoverAssyrianhieroglyphics,andthecontemplationofendlessvasesofallagesnearlydrovehimmadwithboredom.

Butonedayhispatiencewasrewarded.Shecameagain,ratherpinkerthanusual,andtryinghardtoappearself-possessed.

Hegreetedherwithcheerfulfriendliness.

"Goodmorning.Itisagessinceyou'vebeenhere."

"Goodmorning."

Sheletthewordsslipoutwithicyfrigidity,andcoldlyignoredtheendpartofhissentence.

Buthewasdesperate.

"Lookhere!"He stood confronting herwith pleading eyes that remindedherirresistiblyofalarge,faithfuldog."Won'tyoubefriends?

I'mallaloneinLondon-allaloneintheworld,andIbelieveyouare,too.Weoughttobefriends.Besides,ourlittlegodhasintroducedus."

Shelookeduphalfdoubtfully,buttherewasafaintsmilequiveringat the

cornersofhermouth.

"Hashe?"

"Ofcourse!"

It was the second time he had used this extremely positive form ofassurance,andnow,asbefore,itdidnotfailofitseffect,forafteraminuteortwothegirlsaid,inthatslightlyroyalmannerofhers:"Verywell."

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

Andsothequeerfriendshipbegan.Twiceaweektheymet,attheshrineofalittleheathenidol.Atfirsttheyconfinedtheirconversationsolelytohim.Hewas,as itwere,atonceapalliationof,andanexcuse for their friendship.The question of his origin was widely discussed. The man insisted onattributingtohimthemostbloodthirstycharacteristics.Hedepictedhimastheterroranddreadofhisnativeland,insatiableforhumansacrifice,andboweddowntobyhispeopleinfearandtrembling.Inthecontrastbetweenhis formergreatnessandhispresent insignificance there lay, according totheman,allthepathosofthesituation.

TheLonelyLadywouldhavenoneofthistheory.Hewasessentiallyakindlittle god, she insisted. She doubted whether he had ever been verypowerful. If he had been so, she argued, he would not now be lost andfriendless,and,anyway,hewasadearlittlegod,andshelovedhim,andshehatedtothinkofhimsittingtheredayafterdaywithallthoseotherhorrid,superciliousthingsjeeringathim,becauseyoucouldseetheydid!Afterthisvehementoutburstthelittleladywasquiteoutofbreath.

Thattopicexhausted,theynaturallybegantotalkofthemselves.He foundoutthathissurmisewascorrect.Shewasanurserygovernesstoafamilyofchildrenwho livedatHampstead.Heconceivedan instantdislikeof thesechildren;ofTed,whowasfiveandreallynotnaughty,onlymischievous;ofthetwinswhowererathertrying,andofMolly,whowouldn'tdoanythingshewastold,butwassuchadearyoucouldn'tbecrosswithher!

"Thosechildrenbullyyou,"hesaidgrimlyandaccusinglytoher.

"Theydonot,"sheretortedwithspirit."Iamextremelysternwiththem."

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

Shewasanorphan,shetoldhim,quitealoneintheworld.

Gradually he toldher something of his own life: of his official life,whichhadbeenpainstakingandmildly successful;andofhisunofficialpastime,whichwasthespoilingofyardsofcanvas.

"Of course, I don't know anything about it," he explained. "But I havealways felt I couldpaint something someday. I can sketchprettydecently,butI'dliketodoarealpictureofsomething.Achapwhoknewoncetoldmethatmytechniquewasn'tbad."

Shewasinterested,pressedfordetails.

"Iamsureyoupaintawfullywell."

Heshookhishead.

"No, I've begun several things lately and chucked them up in despair. Ialwaysthoughtthat,whenIhadthetime,itwouldbeplainsailing.Ihavebeenstoringupthatideaforyears,butnow,likeeverythingelse,Isuppose,I'veleftittoolate."

"Nothing's too late - ever," said the little lady, with the vehementearnestnessoftheveryyoung.

Hesmileddownonher."Youthinknot,child?It'stoolateforsome thingsforme."

AndthelittleladylaughedathimandnicknamedhimMethuselah.

TheywerebeginningtofeelcuriouslyathomeintheBritishMuseum.Thesolidandsympatheticpolicemanwhopatrolledthegallerieswasamanoftact,andontheappearanceofthecoupleheusuallyfoundthathisonerousduties of guardianship were urgently needed in the adjoining Assyrianroom.

Onedaythemantookaboldstep.Heinvitedherouttotea!

Atfirstshedemurred.

"I have no time. I am not free. I can come some mornings because thechildrenhaveFrenchlessons."

"Nonsense,"saidtheman."Youcouldmanageoneday.Killoffanauntorasecondcousinorsomething,butcome.We'llgotoalittleABC

shopnearhere,andhavebunsfortea!Iknowyoumustlovebuns!"

"Yes,thepennykindwithcurrants!"

"Andalovelyglazeontop-"

"Theyaresuchplump,dearthings!"

"There is something," FrankOliver said solemnly, "infinitely comfortingaboutabun!"

So it was arranged, and the little governess came, wearing quite anexpensivehothouseroseinherbeltinhonoroftheoccasion.

Hehadnoticed that, of late, shehad a strained,worried look, and itwasmoreapparentthaneverthisafternoonasshepouredouttheteaatthelittlemarble-toppedtable.

"Childrenbeenbotheringyou?"heaskedsolicitously.

Sheshookherhead.Shehadseemedcuriouslydisinclinedtotalkaboutthechildrenlately.

"They'reallright.Inevermindthem."

"Don'tyou?"

Hissympathetictoneseemedtodistressherunwarrantably.

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

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

Afteraminute'spauseheremarkedinacheerfultone:"Doyouknow,youhaven'tevenaskedmynameyet?"

Sheheldupaprotestinghand.

"Please, I don'twant to know it.Anddon't askmine.Let us be just twolonelypeoplewho'vecometogetherandmadefriends.Itmakesitsomuchmorewonderful-and-anddifferent."

Hesaidslowlyand thoughtfully:"Verywell. Inanotherwise lonelyworldwe'llbetwopeoplewhohavejusteachother."

Itwasalittledifferentfromherwayofputtingit,andsheseemedtofinditdifficult togoonwiththeconversation.Instead,shebent lowerandloweroverherplate,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 downupon them.FrankOliver broke the silencebravely.

"LittleLady,Ididn'tmeantotellyouyet,butIcan'thelpit.I loveyou.Iwant you. I loved you from the firstmoment I sawyou standing there inyour little black suit. Dearest, if two lonely people were together - why -there would be nomore loneliness. And I'd work, oh! how I'd work! I'd

paintyou.Icould,IknowIcould.Oh!mylittlegirl,Ican'tlivewithoutyou.Ican'tindeed-"

Hislittleladywaslookingathimverysteadily.Butwhatshesaidwasquitethe last thinghe expectedher to say.Veryquietly anddistinctlyshe said:"Youboughtthathandkerchief!"

Hewasamazedatthisproofoffeminineperspicacity,andstillmoreamazedather remembering it againsthimnow.Surely, after this lapseof time, itmighthavebeenforgivenhim.

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

Hewaitedmeeklyforherwordsofcondemnation.

"I think itwas sweet of you!" cried the little ladywith vehemence. "Justsweetofyou!"Hervoiceendeduncertainly.

FrankOliverwenton inhisgruff tone:"Tellme,child, is it impossible?IknowI'manugly,rougholdfellow-"

TheLonelyLadyinterruptedhim.

"No,you'renot! Iwouldn'thaveyoudifferent,not inanyway. I loveyoujust as you are, do you understand? Not because I'm sorry for you, notbecauseI'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 upwith an

exclamation.

"I'dnoideahowlateitwas!Imustgoatonce."

"I'llseeyouhome."

"No,no,no!"

Hewasforcedtoyieldtoherinsistence,andmerelyaccompaniedherasfarastheTubestation.

"Goodbye, dearest." She clung to his hand with an intensity that herememberedafterwards.

"Only goodbye till tomorrow," he answered cheerfully. "Ten o'clock asusual, and we'll tell each other our names and our histories, and befrightfullypracticalandprosaic."

"Goodbyeto-heaven,though,"shewhispered.

"Itwillbewithusalways,sweetheart!"

Shesmiledbackathim,butwiththatsamesadappealthatdisquietedhimandwhichhecouldnot fathom.Thentherelentless liftdraggedher downoutofsight.

IV

Hewas strangely disturbed by those lastwords of hers, but he put themresolutelyoutofhismindandsubstitutedradiantanticipationsoftomorrowintheirstead.

Atteno'clockhewasthere, intheaccustomedplace.Forthefirst timehenoticedhowmalevolentlytheotheridols lookeddownuponhim.Italmostseemed as if they were possessed of some secret evilknowledge affectinghim,overwhichtheyweregloating.Hewasuneasilyawareoftheirdislike.

Thelittleladywaslate.Whydidn'tshecome?Theatmosphereofthisplacewasgettingonhisnerves.Neverhadhisownlittlefriend(theirgod)seemedsohopelesslyimpotentastoday.Ahelplesslumpofstone,hugginghisowndespair!

His cogitations were interrupted by a small, sharp-faced boy who hadsteppedup to him, andwas earnestly scrutinizinghim fromhead to foot.Apparentlysatisfiedwiththeresultofhisobservations,heheldoutaletter.

"Forme?"

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

FrankOliverreadtheletterslowlyandunbelievingly.Itwasquiteshort.

Dearest,I can nevermarry you. Please forget that I ever came into yourLifeatall, and try to forgiveme if Ihavehurtyou.Don't try to findme,becauseitwillbenogood.Itisreally'goodbye.'

TheLonelyLady

There was a postscript which had evidently been scribbled at the lastmoment:

Idoloveyou.Idoindeed.

Andthatlittleimpulsivepostscriptwasallthecomforthehadintheweeksthat followed.Needless to say, he disobeyed her injunction "not to try tofindher,"butallinvain.Shehadvanishedcompletely,andhehadnocluetotraceherby.Headvertiseddespairingly,imploringherinveiledtermsatleasttoexplainthemystery,butblanksilencerewardedhisefforts.Shewasgone,nevertoreturn.

Andthenitwasthatforthefirsttimeinhislifehereallybegantopaint.Histechniquehadalwaysbeengood.Nowcraftsmanshipand inspirationwenthandinhand.

Thepicturethatmadehisnameandbroughthimrenownwasacceptedandhung intheAcademy,andwasaccountedtobethepictureof theyear,noless for the exquisite treatment of the subject than for the masterlyworkmanshipandtechnique.Acertainamountofmystery,too,rendereditmoreinterestingtothegeneraloutsidepublic.

Hisinspirationhadcomequitebychance.Afairystoryinamagazinehadtakenaholdonhisimagination.ItwasthestoryofafortunatePrincesswhohad always had everything she wanted. Did she express a wish? It wasinstantlygratified.Adesire?Itwasgranted.Shehadadevotedfatherandmother, great riches,beautiful clothesand jewels,slaves towait upon herandfulfilherlightestwhim,laughingmaidenstobearhercompany,allthatthe heart of a Princess could desire. Thehandsomest and richest Princespaidhercourtandsued invainforherhand,andwerewillingtokillanynumberofdragons toprove theirdevotion.And yet, the loneliness of thePrincesswasgreaterthanthatofthepoorestbeggarintheland.

Hereadnomore.TheultimatefateofthePrincessinterestedhimnotatall.Apicturehadrisenupbeforehimof thepleasure-ladenPrincesswith thesad,solitarysoul,surfeitedwithhappiness,suffocatedwithluxury,starvinginthePalaceofPlenty.

Hebeganpaintingwithfuriousenergy.Thefiercejoyofcreationpossessedhim.

HerepresentedthePrincesssurroundedbyhercourt,recliningonadivan.AriotofEasterncolorpervadedthepicture.ThePrincessworeamarvelousgownof strange-coloredembroideries;hergoldenhair fell roundher, andonherheadwasaheavyjeweledcirclet.Hermaidenssurroundedher,andPrinces knelt at her feet bearing rich gifts. The whole scene was one ofluxuryandrichness.

But the face of the Princess was turned away; she was oblivious of thelaughterandmirtharoundher.Hergazewasfixedonadarkandshadowycornerwherestoodaseeminglyincongruousobject:alittlegreystone idolwithitsheadburiedinitshandinaquaintabandonmentofdespair.

Was it so incongruous?Theeyesof theyoungPrincessrestedon itwithastrangesympathy,asthoughadawningsenseofherownisolationdrewherglance irresistibly.Theywereakin, these two.Theworldwasather feet -yetshewasalone:aLonelyPrincesslookingatalonelylittlegod.

AllLondontalkedofthispicture,andGretawroteafewhurriedwordsofcongratulation from Yorkshire, and Tom Hurley's wife besought FrankOliver to "come for a weekend andmeet a really delightful girl, a greatadmirerofyourwork."FrankOliverlaughedoncesardonically,andthrewthe letter into the fire.Successhadcome-butwhatwas theuseof it?Heonlywantedonething- that little lonely ladywhohadgoneoutofhis lifeforever.

V

ItwasAscotCupDay,andthepolicemanondutyinacertainsectionoftheBritishMuseumrubbedhiseyesandwonderedifheweredreaming,foronedoesnotexpecttoseethereanAscotvision,inalacefrockandamarveloushat, a veritable nymph as imagined by aParisian genius. The policemanstaredinrapturousadmiration.

Thelonelygodwasnotperhapssosurprised.Hemayhavebeeninhiswayapowerful littlegod;atanyrate,herewasoneworshipperbroughtback tothefold.

TheLittleLonelyLadywasstaringupathim,andherlipsmovedinarapidwhisper.

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

Perhapsthelittlegodwasflattered.Perhaps,ifhewasindeedtheferocious,unappeasabledeityFrankOliverhad imaginedhim, the longweary yearsandthemarchofcivilizationhadsoftenedhiscold,stoneheart.PerhapstheLonelyLadyhadbeen right all along andhewasreally a kind little god.Perhaps itwasmerelyacoincidence.However thatmaybe, itwasat thatverymomentthatFrankOliverwalkedslowlyandsadlythroughthedooroftheAssyrianroom.

HeraisedhisheadandsawtheParisiannymph.

In anothermoment his armwas round her, and shewas stammeringoutrapid,brokenwords.

"Iwas so lonely - you know, youmust have read that story Iwrote; youcouldn't have painted that picture unless you had, and unless you hadunderstood. The Princess was I; I had everything, and yet I was lonelybeyondwords.OnedayIwasgoingtoafortuneteller's,andIborrowedmymaid'sclothes.Icameinhereonthewayandsawyoulookingat the littlegod.That'show itallbegan. Ipretended -oh! itwashatefulofme,andIwentonpretending,andafterwardsIdidn'tdareconfessthatIhadtoldyousuch dreadful lies. I thought you would be disgusted at the way I had

deceived you. I couldn't bear for you to find out, so Iwent away. Then Iwrote that story, and yesterday I saw your picture. Itwas your picture,wasn'tit?"

Onlythegodsreallyknowtheword"ingratitude."

Itistobepresumedthatthelonelylittlegodknewtheblackingratitudeofhumannature.Asadivinityhehaduniqueopportunitiesofobservingit,yetinthehouroftrial,hewhohadhadsacrificesinnumerableofferedtohim,made sacrifice in his turn. He sacrificed his only two worshippers in astrangeland,anditshowedhimtobeagreatlittlegodinhisway,sincehesacrificedallthathehad.

Through the chinks in his fingers he watched them go, hand in hand,withoutabackwardglance, twohappypeoplewhohad foundheavenandhadnoneedofhimanylonger.

Whatwashe,afterall,butaverylonelylittlegodinastrangeland?

MANXGOLD

"ManxGold"isnoordinarydetectivestory;indeed,itisprobablyunique.Thedetectives are conventional enough,but although they areconfrontedwithaparticularlybrutalmurder,themurderer'sidentityisnottheirmainconcern. They are more interested in unraveling a series of clues to thewhereaboutsofhiddentreasure,atreasurewhoseexistence isnotconfinedtotheprintedpage.Clearly,someexplanationisrequired...

Inthewinterof1929,AldermanArthurB.Crookallhadanidea.Crookallwas the chairman of the "June Effort," a committee responsible forboostingtourismtotheIsleofMan,asmallislandoffthenorthwestcoastofEngland.Hisideawasthatthereshouldbeatreasurehunt,inspiredbythemanylegendsofManxsmugglersandtheirlong-forgottenhoardsofbooty.

Therewould be "real" treasure, hidden about the island, and clues to itslocationconcealedintheframeworkofadetectivestory.Somereservationswere expressed by members of the committee, but eventually planningbegan for the "Isle ofManTreasureHunt Scheme," to take place at thestartoftheholidayseasonandrunatthesametimeasanumberofotherannualevents,suchasthe"CrowningoftheRoseQueen"andthemidnightyachtrace.

But Crookall had to find someone to write the story on which the huntwould be based.Who better thanAgathaChristie? Perhaps surprisingly,andforafeeofonlysixtypounds,Christieacceptedthis,hermostunusualcommission.ShevisitedtheIsleofManattheendofApril1930,stayingastheguestofthelieutenantgovernor,beforereturningtoDevon,whereherdaughterwasill.Duringhervisit,ChristieandCrookallspentseveraldaysdiscussing the treasure hunt, and visited various sites in order to decidewherethetreasureshouldbehiddenandhowthecluesshouldbecomposed.

The resulting story, "Manx Gold," was published in five installmentstowardstheendofMayintheDailyDispatch,aManchesternewspaper.Aquarterofamillioncopiesofthestoryalsoweredistributedinbookletformtoguesthouses andhotels across the island.The five clueswerepublishedseparately, and as the date onwhich the first was due to appear in the

Dispatchdrewnearer, theJuneEffortCommitteeappealed toeveryone to"cooperate inordertoobtainasmuchpublicityaspossible" for thehunt.Moretouristsmeantmoretouristrevenue,andthehuntwasalsodrawntotheattentionofseveralhundred"Homecomers"whohad emigrated fromtheislandtotheUnitedStatesandwereduetoreturnashonoredguestsinJune.Inthewordsofthepublicityatthetime,itwas"anopportunityforallAmateurDetectivestotesttheirskill!"

In the story, Juan Faraker and FenellaMylecharane set out to find fourchestsoftreasure,whichhavebeenhiddenontheislandbytheireccentricUncleMyles.TocompetewithJuanandFenella, thereaderwasadvised -like them - to equip himself with "several excellent maps, variousguidebooksdescriptiveoftheisland,abookonfolkloreandabookonthehistoryoftheisland."

Thesolutionstothecluesaregivenattheendofthestory.

*

"OldMylecharane liv'dup on thebroo,Where Jurby slopes down to thewood,Hiscroftwasallgoldenwithcushagandfurze,Hisdaughterwasfairtobehold.

"Ofather,theysayyou'veplentyofstore,Buthiddenalloutoftheway.

NogoldcanIsee,butitsglintonthegorse;Thenwhathaveyoudonewithit,pray?"

"Mygoldislockedupinacofferofoak,WhichIdroppedinthetideanditsank,Andthereitliesfixedlikeananchorofhope,Allrightandassafeasthebank."

"Ilikethatsong,"IsaidappreciativelyasFenellafinished.

"You should do," said Fenella. "It's about our ancestor, yours andmine.UncleMyles'sgrandfather.Hemadeafortuneoutofsmugglingandhid itsomewhere,andnooneeverknewwhere."

AncestryisFenella'sstrongpoint.Shetakesaninterestinallherforbears.Mytendenciesarestrictlymodern.Thedifficultpresentand theuncertainfuture absorb allmy energy.But I like hearingFenellasinging oldManxballads.

Fenellaisverycharming.Sheismyfirstcousinandalso,fromtimetotime,my fiancée. In moods of financial optimism we are engaged. When acorresponding wave of pessimism sweeps over us and we realize that weshallnotbeabletomarryforatleasttenyears,webreakitoff.

"Didn'tanyoneevertrytofindthetreasure?"Iinquired.

"Ofcourse.Buttheyneverdid."

"Perhapstheydidn'tlookscientifically."

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

ThatsoundedtomeverylikeourUncleMyles,acrankyandeccentricoldgentleman,wholivedintheIsleofManandwhowasmuchgiventodidacticpronouncements.

Itwasatthatmomentthatthepostcame-andtheletter!

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

BothsheandIhadseenoureccentricrelativeononlytwooccasions,sowecouldneitherofuspretendtoaverydeepgrief.TheletterwasfromafirmoflawyersinDouglas,anditinformedusthatunderthewillofMr.MylesMylecharane, deceased, Fenella and I were joint inheritors of his estate,which consisted of a house near Douglas and an infinitesimal income.Enclosed was a sealed envelope, which Mr. Mylecharane had directedshouldbeforwardedtoFenellaathisdeath.Thisletterweopenedandreadits surprising contents. I reproduce it in full, since it was a trulycharacteristicdocument.

MydearFenellaandJuan,forItake it thatwhereoneofyouistheotherwillnotbefaraway.Orsogossiphaswhispered.

You may remember having heard me say that anyone displaying a littleintelligence could easily find the treasure concealed by my amiablescoundrelofagrandfather.Idisplayedthatintelligenceandmyrewardwasfourchestsofsolidgold-quitelikeafairystory,isitnot?

Of living relations I have only four: you two,my nephewEwanCorjeag,whomIhavealwaysheardisathoroughlybadlot,andacousin,aDoctorFayll,ofwhomIhaveheardverylittle,andthatlittlenotalwaysgood.MyestateproperIamleavingtoyouandFenella,butIfeelacertainobligationlaiduponmewithregardtothis"treasure"whichhasfallentomylotsolelythrough my own ingenuity. My amiable ancestor would not, I feel, besatisfiedformetopassitontamelybyinheritance.SoI, inmyturn,havedevisedalittleproblem.

There are still four "chests" of treasure (though in amoremodern formthangold ingots or coins) and there are tobe four competitors -my fourlivingrelations. Itwouldbe fairest toassignone"chest" toeach -buttheworld,mychildren,isnotfair.Theraceistotheswiftest-andoftentothemostunscrupulous.

WhoamI togoagainstNature?Youmustpityourwitsagainst theothertwo.Therewillbe,Ifear,verylittlechanceforyou.Goodnessandinnocenceare seldom rewarded in this world. So strongly do I feel this that I havedeliberatelycheated(unfairnessagain,younotice!).This lettergoestoyoutwenty-fourhoursinadvanceoftheletterstotheothertwo.Thusyouwillhave a very good chance of securing the first "treasure" - twenty-fourhours'start,ifyouhaveanybrainsatall,oughttobesufficient.

ThecluesforfindingthistreasurearetobefoundatmyhouseinDouglas.Thecluesforthesecond"treasure"willnotbereleasedtillthefirsttreasureis found. In the second and succeeding cases, therefore, you will all starteven.Youhavemygoodwishes forsuccess, andnothingwouldpleasemebetterthanforyoutoacquireallfour"chests",butforthereasonswhichIhavealreadystatedIthinkthatmostunlikely.RememberthatnoscrupleswillstandindearEwan'sway.Donotmakethemistakeoftrustinghiminanyrespect.As toDr.RichardFayll, I know little about him, but he is, Ifancy,adarkhorse.

Good luck to you both, but with little hopes of your success, Your

affectionateuncle,MylesMylecharaneAswereachedthesignature,Fenellamadealeapfrommyside.

"Whatisit?"Icried.

FenellawasrapidlyturningthepagesofanABC.

"WemustgettotheIsleofManassoonaspossible,"shecried."Howdarehesayweweregoodandinnocentandstupid?I'llshowhim!

Juan,we'regoingtofindallfourofthese'chests'andgetmarriedandlivehappilyeverafterwards,withRolls-Roycesandfoot-menandmarblebaths.ButwemustgettotheIsleofManatonce."

II

Itwastwenty-fourhourslater.WehadarrivedinDouglas,interviewed thelawyers,andwerenowatMaugholdHousefacingMrs.Skillicorn,our lateuncle's housekeeper, a somewhat formidable woman who neverthelessrelentedalittlebeforeFenella'seagerness.

"Queer ways he had," she said. "Liked to set everyone puzzling andcontriving."

"Buttheclues,"criedFenella."Theclues?"

Deliberately, as she did everything, Mrs. Skillicorn left the room. Shereturnedafter anabsence of someminutes andheld out a foldedpieceofpaper.

Weunfoldediteagerly.Itcontainedadoggerelrhymeinmyuncle'scrabbedhandwriting.

FourpointsofthecompasssotherebeSandW,NandE.

Eastwindsarebadformanandbeast.

GosouthandwestandNorthnoteast.

"Oh!"saidFenellablankly.

"Oh!"saidI,withmuchthesameintonation.

Mrs.Skillicornsmiledonuswithgloomyrelish.

"Notmuchsensetoit,isthere?"shesaidhelpfully.

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

"Beginning," I said, with a cheerfulness I did not feel, "is always thedifficulty.Oncewegetgoing-"

Mrs.Skillicornsmiledmoregrimlythanever.Shewasadepressingwoman.

"Can'tyouhelpus?"askedFenellacoaxingly.

"Iknownothingaboutthesillybusiness.Didn'tconfide inme,youruncledidn't. I toldhim toputhismoney in thebank,andnononsense. Ineverknewwhathewasupto."

"Heneverwentoutwithanychests-oranythingofthatkind?"

"Thathedidn't."

"Youdon'tknowwhenhehidthestuff-whetheritwaslatelyorlongago?"

Mrs.Skillicornshookherhead.

"Well," I said, trying to rally. "There are two possibilities. Either thetreasure is hidden here, in the actual grounds, or else it may be hiddenanywhereontheisland.Itdependsonthebulk,ofcourse."

AsuddenbrainwaveoccurredtoFenella.

"You haven't noticed anything missing?" she said. "Among my uncle'sthings,Imean."

"Why,now,it'soddyoursayingthat-"

"Youhave,then?"

"AsIsay,it'soddyoursayingthat.Snuffboxes-there'satleastfourofthemIcan'tlaymyhandonanywhere."

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

"There'snothingthere,"saidMrs.Skillicorn."I'dknowiftherewere.Youruncle couldn't have buried anything in the garden without my knowing

aboutit."

"Pointsofthecompassarementioned,"Isaid."Thefirstthingweneedisamapoftheisland."

"There'soneonthatdesk,"saidMrs.Skillicorn.

Fenellaunfoldediteagerly.Somethingflutteredoutasshedidso.Icaughtit.

"Hullo," I said. "This looks like a further clue." We both went over iteagerly.

Itappearedtobearudekindofmap.Therewasacrossonitandacircleand a pointing arrow, and directions were roughly indicated, but it washardlyilluminating.Westudieditinsilence.

"It'snotveryilluminating,isit?"saidFenella.

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

Mrs.Skillicorninterruptedwithasuggestionofsupper,towhichweagreedthankfully.

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

Mrs.Skillicornprovideduswithanexcellentmeal,andat itsconclusionalargejugofcoffeemadeitsappearance.

"Andnow,"saidFenella,"wemustgetdowntoit."

"The first thing," I said, "is direction. This seems to point clearly to thenortheastoftheisland."

"Itseemsso.Let'slookatthemap."

Westudiedthemapattentively.

"It alldependsonhowyou take the thing," saidFenella."Does the crossrepresentthetreasure?Orisitsomethinglikeachurch?Therereallyoughttoberules!"

"Thatwouldmakeittooeasy."

"Isupposeitwould.Whyaretherelittlelinesononesideofthecircleandnottheother?"

"Idon'tknow."

"Arethereanymoremapsanywhere?"

We were sitting in the library. There were several excellent maps.Therewerealsovariousguidebooksdescriptiveoftheisland.Therewasabookonfolklore.Therewasabookonthehistoryoftheisland.Wereadthemall.

Andatlastweformedapossibletheory.

"Itdoesseemtofit,"saidFenellaatlast."Imeanthetwotogetherisalikelyconjunctionwhichdoesn'tseemtooccuranywhereelse."

"It'sworthtrying,anyhow,"Isaid."Idon'tthinkwecandoanythingmoretonight.Tomorrow,firstthing,we'llhireacarandgooffandtryourluck."

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

III

Early morning saw us on the road. We had hired a car for a week,arranging todrive it ourselves.Fenella's spirits roseaswe spedalong theexcellentroad,mileaftermile.

"Ifonlyitwasn'tfortheothertwo,whatfunthiswouldbe,"shesaid.

"This is where the Derby was originally run, wasn't it? Before it waschangedtoEpsom.Howqueerthatistothinkof!"

Idrewherattentiontoafarmhouse.

"Thatmustbewherethereissaidtobeasecretpassagerunningundertheseatothatisland."

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

Fiveminuteslaterweabandonedthecar.

"Everything'sintherightposition,"saidFenellatremulously.

Wewalkedon.

"Six of them - that's right. Now between these two. Have you got thecompass?"

Fiveminutes later,wewerestandingfacingeachother,an incredulous joyonourfaces-andonmyoutstretchedpalmlayanantiquesnuffbox.

Wehadbeensuccessful!

On our return to Maughold House, Mrs. Skillicorn met us with theinformationthattwogentlemenhadarrived.Onehaddepartedagain,buttheotherwasinthelibrary.

A tall, fairmanwith a florid face rose smilingly froman armchair asweenteredtheroom.

"Mr. Faraker andMissMylecharane? Delighted tomeet you. I am yourdistantcousin,Dr.Fayll.Amusinggame,allthis,isn'tit?"

Hismannerwas urbane and pleasant, but I took an immediate dislike tohim.I felt that insomewaythemanwasdangerous.Hispleasantmannerwas,somehow,toopleasant,andhiseyesnevermetyoursfairly.

"I'mafraidwe've got badnews for you," I said. "MissMylecharane andmyselfhavealreadydiscoveredthefirst'treasure'."

Hetookitverywell.

"Toobad-toobad.Postsfromheremustbeodd.BarfordandIstartedatonce."

WedidnotdaretoconfesstheperfidyofUncleMyles.

"Anyway,weshallallstartfairforthesecondround,"saidFenella.

"Splendid.Whataboutgettingdowntothecluesrightaway?YourexcellentMrs.-er-Skillicornholdsthem,Ibelieve?"

"Thatwouldn't be fair toMr.Corjeag," said Fenella, quickly. "Wemustwaitforhim."

"True,true-Ihadforgotten.Wemustgetintouchwithhimasquicklyaspossible.Iwillseetothat-youtwomustbetiredoutandwanttorest."

Thereupon he took his departure. Ewan Corjeag must have beenunexpectedlydifficult to find, for itwasnot till nearly eleveno'clock thatnight thatDr.Fayllrangup.HesuggestedthatheandEwanshouldcomeover toMaugholdHouseat teno'clock the followingmorning,whenMrs.Skillicorncouldhandusouttheclues.

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

Weretiredtobedtiredbuthappy.

IV

The following morning we were aroused by Mrs. Skillicorn, completelyshakenoutofherusualpessimisticcalm.

"Whateverdoyouthink?"shepanted."Thehousehasbeenbrokeninto."

"Burglars?"Iexclaimedincredulously."Hasanythingbeentaken?"

"Nota thing -and that's theoddpartof it!Nodoubt theywereafter thesilver - but the door being locked on the outside they couldn't get anyfurther."

FenellaandIaccompaniedhertothesceneoftheoutrage,whichhappenedto be in her own sitting room. The window there had undeniably beenforced,yetnothingseemedtohavebeentaken.Itwasallrathercurious.

"Idon'tseewhattheycanhavebeenlookingfor,"saidFenella.

"It's not as though there were a 'treasure chest' hidden in the house," Iagreedfacetiously.Suddenlyanideaflashedintomymind.IturnedtoMrs.Skillicorn.

"Theclues-thecluesyouweretogiveusthismorning?"

"Whytobesure-they'reinthattopdrawer."Shewentacrosstoit.

"Why-Idodeclare-there'snothinghere!They'regone!"

"Notburglars,"Isaid."Ouresteemedrelations!"

AndIrememberedUncleMyles'swarningonthesubjectofunscrupulousdealing.Clearlyhehadknownwhathewastalkingabout.Adirtytrick!

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

Thesoundshehadcaughtcameplainly toourears. Itwasagroanand itcame from outside. We went to the window and leaned out. There wasshrubberygrowingagainstthissideofthehouseandwecouldseenothing;

butthegroancameagain,andwecouldseethatthebushesseemedtohavebeendisturbedandtrampled.

Wehurrieddownandoutroundthehouse.Thefirstthingwefoundwasafallenladder,showinghowthethieveshadreachedthewindow.Afewstepsfurtherbroughtustowhereamanwaslying.

Hewasayoungishman,dark,andhewasevidentlybadly injured,forhisheadwaslyinginapoolofblood.Ikneltdownbesidehim.

"Wemustgetadoctoratonce.I'mafraidhe'sdying."

The gardener was sent off hurriedly. I slipped my hand into his breastpocketandbroughtoutapocketbook.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 thehouseandanursewassent fortotakechargeofhim.Nothingcouldbedone,andhewoulddieacoupleofhourslater.

Wehadbeen sent forandwere standingbyhisbed.His eyesopenedandflickered.

"WeareyourcousinsJuanandFenella,"Isaid."Isthereanythingwecando?"

Hemadeafaintnegativemotionofthehead.Awhispercamefromhislips.Ibenttocatchit.

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

"Yes,"saidFenella."Tellme."

Somethinglikeagrincameoverhisface.

"D'yeken-"hebegan.

Thensuddenlyhisheadfelloversidewaysandhedied.

V

"Idon'tlikeit,"saidFenellasuddenly.

"Whatdon'tyoulike?"

"Listen, Juan.Ewan stole those clues - he admits falling from the ladder.Thenwherearethey?We'veseenallthecontentsofhispockets.Therewerethree sealed envelopes, so Mrs. Skillicorn says. Those sealed envelopesaren'tthere."

"Whatdoyouthink,then?"

"Ithinktherewassomeoneelsethere,someonewhojerkedawaytheladdersothatEwanfell.Andthatstone-heneverfellonit-itwasbroughtfromsomedistanceaway- I've foundthemark.Hewasdeliberatelybashedontheheadwithit."

"ButFenella-that'smurder!"

"Yes," said Fenella, 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-"

"Todo that,"I said,"wemust find thesecondtreasure.Let's lookat thisthing."

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

Fenellanodded.

"Dr. Fayll has the important half.He knowswhere to look.We've got tofind thatman, Juan, andwatch him.Of course,wewon't let him seewesuspect."

"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.

VI

"Dr.Faylltoseeyou,"saidMrs.Skillicorn.

Welookedateachother.Twenty-fourhourshadelapsed.Wehadreturnedfromourquestsuccessfulforthesecondtime.Notwishingtodrawattentiontoourselves,wehadjourneyedintheSnaefell-acharabanc.

"Iwonderifheknowswesawhiminthedistance?"murmuredFenella.

"It'sextraordinary.Ifithadn'tbeenforthehintthatphotographgaveus-"

"Hush-anddobecareful,Juan.Hemustbesimplyfuriousatourhavingoutwittedhiminspiteofeverything."

No trace of it appeared in the doctor's manner, however. He entered theroomhisurbaneandcharmingself,andIfeltmyfaithinFenella's theorydwindling.

"Whatashockingtragedy!"hesaid."PoorCorjeag.Isupposehewas-well- trying to steal a march on us. Retribution was swirl. Well, well -wescarcelyknewhim,poorfellow.YoumusthavewonderedwhyIdidn'tturnup this morning as arranged. I got a fake message -Corjeag's doing, Isuppose- itsentmeoffonawild-goosechaserightacross the island.Andnowyoutwohaverompedhomeagain.Howdoyoudoit?"

Therewasanoteofreallyeager inquiry inhisvoicewhichdidnotescapeme.

"Cousin Ewan was fortunately able to speak just before he died," saidFenella.

Iwaswatchingtheman,andIcouldswearIsawalarmleapintohiseyesatherwords.

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

"Hewasjustabletogiveusaclueastothewhereaboutsofthetreasure,"

explainedFenella.

"Oh!Isee-Isee.I'vebeencleanoutofthings-though,curiouslyenough,Imyself was in that part of the island. You may have seen me strollinground."

"Weweresobusy,"saidFenellaapologetically.

"Ofcourse,ofcourse.Youmusthaverunacrossthethingmoreorlessbyaccident.Luckyyoungpeople,aren'tyou?Well,what'sthenextprogram?WillMrs.Skillicornobligeuswiththenewclues?"

Butitseemedthatthisthirdsetofclueshadbeendepositedwiththelawyer,andweallthreerepairedtothelawyer'soffice,wherethesealedenvelopeswerehandedovertous.

Thecontentsweresimple.Amapwithacertainareamarkedoffonit,andapaperofdirectionsattached.

In'85,thisplacemadehistory.

11 paces from the landmark toThe east, then an equal tenPlaces north.StandthereLookingeast.TwotreesareintheLineofvision.OneofthemWassacredinthisisland.DrawAcirclefivefeetfromTheSpanishchestnutand,Withheadbent,walkround.Lookwell.You'llfind.

"Looksas thoughwearegoing to treadoneachother's toesabit today,"commentedthedoctor.

True tomypolicyofapparent friendliness, Iofferedhima lift inour car,which he accepted.We had lunch at Port Erin, and then started on oursearch.

I had debated in my own mind the reason of my uncle's depositing thisparticularsetofclueswithhis lawyer.Hadheforeseenthepossibilityofatheft?Andhadhedeterminedthatnotmorethanonesetofcluesshouldfallintothethief'spossession?

The treasure hunt this afternoonwas not without its humor. The areaof

searchwaslimitedandwewerecontinuallyinsightofeachother.Weeyedeach other suspiciously, each trying to determine whether the other wasfurtheronorhadhadabrainwave.

"ThisisallpartofUncleMyles'splan,"saidFenella.

"He wanted us to watch each other and go through all the agonies ofthinkingtheotherpersonwasgettingthere."

"Come," I said."Let'sgetdown to it scientifically.We'vegotonedefiniteclue to start on. 'In '85 this place made history.' Look up the referencebookswe've gotwithus and see ifwe can'thunt thatdown.Oncewe getthat-"

"He's looking in thathedge," interruptedFenella."Oh! I can'tbear it. Ifhe'sgotit-"

"Attendtome,"Isaid firmly."There'sreallyonlyonewaytogoabout ittheproperway."

"Therearesofewtreesontheislandthatitwouldbemuchsimplerjust tolookforachestnuttree!"saidFenella.

Ipassoverthenexthour.Wegrewhotanddespondent-andallthetimeweweretorturedwithfearthatFayllmightbesucceedingwhilstwefailed.

"Irememberoncereadinginadetectivestory,"Isaid,"howafellowstuckapaperofwritinginabathofacid-andallsortsofotherwordscameout."

"Doyouthink-butwehaven'tgotabathofacid!"

"I don't thinkUncleMyles could expect expert chemical knowledge.Butthere'scommonorgardenheat-"

We slipped round the corner of a hedge and in a minute or two I hadkindledafewtwigs.IheldthepaperasclosetotheblazeasIdared.AlmostatonceIwasrewardedbyseeingcharactersbegintoappearatthefootofthesheet.Therewerejusttwowords.

"KirkhillStation,"readoutFenella.

JustatthatmomentFayllcameroundthecorner.Whetherhehadheardornotwehadnomeansofjudging.Heshowednothing.

"But Juan," said Fenella, when he moved away, "there isn't a KirkhillStation!"Sheheldoutthemapasshespoke.

"No,"Isaidexaminingit,"butlookhere."

AndwithapencilIdrewalineonit.

"Ofcourse!Andsomewhereonthatline-"

"Exactly."

"ButIwishweknewtheexactspot."

Itwasthenthatmysecondbrainwavecametome.

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

Fenellautteredacry.

"Howidiotic!"shecried."Andhowmarvelous!Whatasell!Really,UncleMyleswasamostingeniousoldgentleman!"

VII

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

Nothingarrived,however,onthemorningitshouldhavedone,andFenellaandIwentthroughagonies,believingthatFayllhadmanagedsomehowtointerceptourletter.Thenextday,however,ourfearswerecalmedandthemysteryexplainedwhenwereceivedthefollowingilliteratescrawl:

DearSirorMadam,Escusedelaybuthavebeenallsixesandsevensbutidonowasmr.Mylecharaneaxedmetoandsendyouthepieceofritingwotasbeeninmyfamilymanylongyearsthewothewanteditforidonotknow.

thankingyouiamMaryKerruish

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

Uponarock,asignyou'llsee.

O,tellmewhatthepointofThatmaybe?Well,firstly,(A).NearByyou'llfind,quitesuddenly,thelightYouseek.Then(B).Ahouse.ACottagewithathatchandwall.

Ameanderinglanenearby.Thatall.

"It's very unfair to begin with a rock," said Fenella. "There are rockseverywhere.Howcanyoutellwhichonehasthesignonit?"

"Ifwecouldsettleonthedistrict,"Isaid,"itoughttobefairlyeasytofindtherock.Itmusthaveamarkon itpointing inacertaindirection,andinthatdirectiontherewillbesomethinghiddenwhichwillthrowlightonthefindingofthetreasure."

"Ithinkyou'reright,"saidFenella.

"That'sA.Thenewcluewill giveus ahintwhereB, the cottage, is tobe

found.Thetreasureitself ishiddendownalanealongsidethecottage.Butclearlywe'vegottofindAfirst.

Owingtothedifficultyoftheinitialstep,UncleMyles'slastproblemprovedarealteaser.ToFenellafallsthedistinctionofunravelingit-andeventhenshe did not accomplish it for nearly aweek.Now and thenwe had comeacrossFayllinoursearchofrockydistricts,buttheareawasawideone.

Whenwefinallymadeourdiscovery itwas late in theevening.Too late,Isaid,tostartofftotheplaceindicated.Fenelladisagreed.

"SupposingFayllfindsit,too,"shesaid."Andwewaittilltomorrowandhestartsofftonight.Howweshouldkickourselves!"

Suddenly,amarvelousideaoccurredtome.

"Fenella,"Isaid,"doyoustillbelievethatFayllmurderedEwanCorjeag?"

"Ido."

"Then I think thatnowwe've got our chance tobring the crimehome tohim."

"Thatmanmakesmeshiver.He'sbadallthrough.Tellme."

"Advertise the fact that we've found A. Then start off. Ten to one he'llfollowus.It'salonelyplace-justwhatwouldsuithisbook.He'llcomeoutintheopenifwepretendtofindthetreasure."

"Andthen?"

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

VIII

Itwascloseonmidnight.Wehadleftthecarsomedistanceawayandwerecreepingalongbythesideofawall.Fenellahadapowerfulflashlightwhichshewasusing.Imyselfcarriedarevolver.Iwastakingnochances.

Suddenly,withalowcry,Fenellastopped.

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

ForamomentIwasoffmyguard.LedbyinstinctIwhirledround-buttoolate.Fayllstoodsixpacesawayandhisrevolvercoveredusboth.

"Goodevening,"hesaid."Thistrickismine.You'llhandoverthattreasure,ifyouplease."

"Would you likeme also to hand over something else?" I asked. "Half asnapshottornfromadyingman'shand?Youhavetheotherhalf,Ithink."

Hishandwavered.

"Whatareyoutalkingabout?"hegrowled.

"The truth's known," I said. "You andCorjeagwere there together. Youpulledawaytheladderandcrashedhisheadwiththatstone.Thepoliceareclevererthanyouimagine,Dr.Fayll."

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

"Drop,Fenella,"I screamed.Andat thesameminutehisrevolverbarkedloudly.

We had both dropped in the heather, and before he could fire againuniformed men sprang out from behind the wall where they had beenhiding.AmomentlaterFayllhadbeenhandcuffedandledaway.

IcaughtFenellainmyarms.

"IknewIwasright,"shesaidtremulously.

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

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

"Dowe?"

"Ido.See-"shescribbledaword."We'lllookforittomorrow.Therecan'tbemanyhidingplacesthere,Ishouldsay."

IX

Itwasjustnoonwhen:

"Eureka!" said Fenella softly. "The fourth snuffbox!We've got them all.UncleMyleswouldbepleased.Andnow-"

"Now," I said, "we can be married and live together happily everafterwards."

"We'llliveintheIsleofMan,"saidFenella.

"OnManxGold,"Isaid,andlaughedaloudforsheerhappiness.

*

The treasure isall that is leftof the lost fortuneof"OldMylecharane",alegendaryManxsmuggler.Inreality,asinthebook,the"treasure"tooktheformoffoursnuffboxes,eachaboutthesizeofamatchboxandcontaininganeighteenth-centuryManxhalfpennywithaholeinit,throughwhichwastiedalengthofcoloredribbon,andaneatlyfoldeddocument,executedwithmany flourishes in Indian ink and signed byAlderman Crookall, whichdirectedthefindertoreportatoncetotheclerkatthetownhallinDouglas,thecapitaloftheIsleofMan.Finderswereinstructedtotakewiththemthesnuffboxanditscontentsinordertoclaimaprizeofonehundredpounds(equivalenttoaboutthreethousandpoundstoday).Theyalsohadtobringwiththemproofof identity, foronlyvisitors to the islandwereallowed tosearchforthetreasure;Manxresidentswereexcludedfromthehunt.

"Alittleintelligencecouldeasilyfindthetreasure"

Thesolepurposeofthefirstcluein"ManxGold,"therhymewhichbegins"Fourpointsofthecompasssotherebe,"publishedintheDailyDispatchonSaturday,May31,wastoindicatethatthefourtreasureswouldbefoundinthenorth,south,andwestoftheisland,butnotin theeast.Theclueto

the location of the first snuffbox was in fact the second clue, a mappublished on June 7.However, the treasure hadalready been found by atailorfromInverness,WilliamShaw,becausesufficientcluestoitslocationwerecontainedinthestoryitself.

Themost important cluewas Fenella's remark that the hiding placewasneartheplace"whereDerbywasoriginallyrun...beforeitwaschangedtoEpsom."This is a reference to the famousEnglishhorse race,whichwasfirst run at Derbyhaven in the southeast of the Isle ofMan. The "quitenear" island to which "a secret passage" was rumored to run from afarmhouse can easily be identified as St. Michael's Isle, on which, inaddition to the twelfth-century chapel of St. Michael, is a circular stonetowerknownas theDerbyFort, fromwhich the islandgets its alternativename,FortIsland-"thetwotogetherisalikelyconjunctionwhichdoesn'tseem to occuranywhere else."The fortwasrepresented on themapby acirclewithsixlinesprojectedfromittorepresentthesixhistoricalcannons-"sixofthem"-inthefort;thechapelwasrepresentedbyacross.

The small pewter snuffbox was hidden on a rocky ledge running in anortheasterlydirectionfrombetweenthemiddletwocannons-

"between these two - have you got the compass?" - while Juan's initialsuggestion that the clue "points to the northeast of the island"was a redherring.

"Tooeasy"

The second snuffbox, apparently constructed from horn, was located onJune9byRichardHighton,aLancashirebuilder.AsFenellamadecleartothemurderousDr.Fayll,EwanCorjeag'sdyingwords,"D'yeken-"areacluetothewhereaboutsofthetreasure.Infact,theyaretheopeningwordsofthetraditionalEnglishsongJohnPeelaboutaCumbrianhuntsman,andwhen Juan suggested that "Bellman andTrue"was the "name of a firmthat might help us," he was not referring to the "firm of lawyers inDouglas"mentionedatthebeginningofthestorybuttotwoofJohnPeel'shounds, as named in the song.With these clues, the subject of the "tornsnapshot,"whichwaspublishedasthethirdclueonJune9,wouldnothavebeen"veryhardtoidentify";itwastheruinsofthefourteenth-centuryPeelCastle on St.Patrick's Isle, and curved lines along the photograph's left-

hand edgewere the curlicues on the arm of a bench on Peel Hill, whichlooksdown on the castle and underwhich the snuffboxwas hidden. Thecharabanc journey to Snaefell, the highest peak on the Isle ofMan,wasanotherredherring.

"Moreorlessbyaccident"

Thethird"treasure"wasfoundbyMr.HerbertElliot,aManx-bornship'sengineer living inLiverpool.M.Elliot later claimed that he hadnot read"ManxGold"norevenstudiedtheclues,buthadsimplydecidedonalikelyarea where, very early on the morning of July 8, he chanced upon thesnuffbox,hiddeninagully.

The principal clue to its whereabouts was hidden in the fourth clue,published on June 14 (the verse beginning "In '85, this place madehistory"), in which the second word of each line spells out the followingmessage:

"85...paces...east...north...east...of...sacred...circle...Spanish...Head."

The "sacred circle" is the Meayll circle on Mull Hill, a megalithicmonumenta little overamile from theSpanishHead, themost southerlypoint of the island. The reference to an important event "in '85" and aSpanish chestnut, which from contemporary accountsproved a diversionfor many searchers, were false leads. As for"Kirkhill Station," the clueuncovered by Juan, Fenella rightly said that there was no such place.However,thereisavillagecalledKirkhillandthereisalsoarailwaystationatPortErin,whereJuanandFenellahadhad lunchbefore starting theirsearch. If a line is drawn from Kirkhill to Port Erin and continuedsouthward, it eventually crosses the Meayll circle, "the exact spot"identifiedbyJuan.

"Arealteaser"

Unfortunately, as was the case with the clues to the location of the thirdsnuffbox,thoseforthefourthwereneversolved.Thefifthandfinalclue,theversebeginning"Uponarock,asignyou'llsee,"waspublishedonJune21,butonJuly10,attheendoftheextendedperiodallowedforthehunt,whichhad originally been intended to finish at the end of June, the final"treasure" was "lifted" by the Mayor of Douglas.Two days later, as a

"sequel" to the story, the Daily Dispatch published a photograph of theeventandChristie'sexplanationofthefinalclue:ThatlastcluestillmakesmesmilewhenIrememberthetimewewastedlookingforrockswithasignonthem.Therealcluewassosimple-thewords"sixesandsevens"inthecoveringletter.

Takethesixthandseventhwordsofeachlineoftheverse,andyougetthis:"You'llsee.Pointof(A).Nearthelighthouseawall."Seethepointof(A)weidentifiedas thePointofAyre.Wespentsometimefinding the rightwall,andthetreasureitselfwasnotthere.Instead,therewerefourfigures-2,5,6,and9scrawledonastone.

Applythemtothelettersofthefirstlineoftheverse,andyougettheword"park." There is only one real park in the Isle of Man, at Ramsey.Wesearchedthatpark,andfoundatlastwhatwesought.

The thatchedbuilding inquestionwasa small refreshmentkiosk,and thepath leading past it ran up to an ivy-coveredwall, whichwas thehidingplace of the elusive snuffbox. The fact that the letter had beenposted inBride was an additional clue, as this village is near the lighthouse at thePointofAyre,thenorthern-mosttipoftheisland.

It is impossible to judge whether or not "Manx Gold" was a successfulmeansofpromotingtourismontheIsleofMan.Certainly, itappears thatthereweremore visitors in 1930 than inprevious years, buthow far thatincrease could be ascribed to the treasure hunt is far from clear.Contemporarypressreportsshowthatthereweremanywhodoubtedthatithadbeenofanyrealvalue,andataciviclunchtomarktheendofthehunt,AldermanCrookallrespondedtoavoteof thanksbyrailingagainst thosewhohadfailedtotalkupthehunt-theywere"slackersandgrouserswhoneverdidanythingbutofferupcriticism."

Thefactthattheywerenotallowedtotakepartinthehuntmighthavebeena cause of apathy among the islanders, even though the Daily DispatchofferedtheManxresidentwithwhomeachfinderwasstayingaprizeoffiveguineas, equivalent to about one hundred fifty pounds today. This alsomight have accounted for various acts of gentle "sabotage", such as thelaying of false snuffboxes and spoof clues, including a rock onwhich theword"lift"waspaintedbutunderwhichwasnothingmoreinterestingthan

discardedfruitpeel.

While there never has been any other event quite like the Isle of Mantreasurehunt,AgathaChristiedidgoontowritemysterieswithasimilartheme.MostobviousoftheseisthechallengelaiddowntoCharmianStroudandEdwardRossiterbytheireccentricUncleMathewin"StrangeJest,"aMissMarplestoryfirstpublishedin1941

as"ACaseofBuriedTreasure"andcollectedinMissMarple’sFinalCases(1979). There is also a similarly structured "murder hunt" in thePoirotnovelDeadMan'sFolly(1956).

WITHINAWALL

It wasMrs. Lemprièrewho discovered the existence of JaneHaworth. Itwouldbe,ofcourse.SomebodyoncesaidthatMrs.LemprièrewaseasilythemosthatedwomaninLondon,butthat,Ithink,isanexaggeration.Shehascertainlyaknackoftumblingontheonethingyouwishtokeepquietabout,andshedoesitwithrealgenius.Itisalwaysanaccident.

InthiscasewehadbeenhavingteainAlanEverard'sstudio.Hegavetheseteas occasionally, and used to stand about in corners, wearing very oldclothes,rattlingthecoppers inhis trouserpocketsand lookingprofoundlymiserable.

IdonotsupposeanyonewilldisputeEverard'sclaimtogeniusatthisdate.Histwomostfamouspictures,ColorandTheConnoisseur,whichbelongtohis early period, before he became a fashionable portrait painter, werepurchased by the nation last year, and for once the choice wentunchallenged.ButatthedateofwhichIspeak,Everardwasonlybeginningtocomeintohisown,andwewerefreetoconsiderthatwehaddiscoveredhim.

Itwashiswifewhoorganizedtheseparties.Everard'sattitudetoherwasapeculiar one. That he adored her was evident, and only to be expected.AdorationwasIsobel'sdue.Butheseemedalwaystofeelhimselfslightlyinher debt. He assented to anything she wished, not so much throughtendernessasthroughanunalterableconvictionthatshehadarighttoherownway.Isupposethatwasnaturalenough,too,whenonecomestothinkofit.

ForIsobelLoringhadbeenreallyverycelebrated.Whenshecameoutshehad been the débutante of the season. She had everything exceptmoney;beauty,position,breeding,brains.Nobodyexpectedhertomarryfor love.Shewasn't thatkindofgirl. Inhersecondseasonshehad three strings toher bow, the heir to a dukedom, a rising politician,and a South Africanmillionaire.Andthen,toeveryone'ssurprise,shemarriedAlanEverard-astrugglingyoungpainterwhomnoonehadeverheardof.

Itisatributetoherpersonality,Ithink,thateveryonewentoncallingher

IsobelLoring.NobodyeveralludedtoherasIsobelEverard.Itwouldbe:"IsawIsobelLoringthismorning.Yes-withherhusband,youngEverard,thepainterfellow."

PeoplesaidIsobelhad"doneforherself."Itwould,Ithink,have"done"formost men to be known as "Isobel Loring's husband." But Everardwasdifferent.Isobel'stalentforsuccesshadn'tfailedherafterall.AlanEverardpaintedColor.

Isupposeeveryoneknowsthepicture:astretchofroadwithatrenchdugdownit,andturnedearth,reddishincolor,ashininglengthofbrownglazeddrain-pipe and the huge navvy, resting for a minute on his spade - aHerculean figure in stainedcorduroyswitha scarletneckerchief.His eyeslookoutatyoufromthecanvas,withoutintelligence,withouthope,butwithadumbunconsciouspleading,theeyesofamagnificentbrutebeast.Itisaflamingthing-asymphonyoforangeandred.Alothasbeenwrittenaboutitssymbolism,aboutwhatitismeanttoexpress.AlanEverardhimselfsayshedidn'tmeanittoexpressanything.Hewas,hesaid,nauseatedbyhavinghadtolookatalotofpicturesofVenetiansunsets,andasuddenlongingforariotofpurelyEnglishcolorassailedhim.

After that, Everard gave theworld that epic painting of a public house -Romance: theblackstreetwithrainfalling- thehalf-opendoor, the lightsandshiningglasses,thelittlefoxy-facedmanpassingthroughthedoorway,small, mean, insignificant, with lips parted and eyes eager, passing in toforget.

OnthestrengthofthesetwopicturesEverardwasacclaimedasapainterof"workingmen."Hehadhisniche.Butherefusedtostayinit.Histhirdandmost brilliant work, a full-length portrait of Sir RufusHerschman. Thefamous scientist is painted against a background of retorts and cruciblesandlaboratoryshelves.ThewholehaswhatmaybecalledaCubisteffect,butthelinesofperspectiverunstrangely.

Andnowhehadcompletedhisfourthwork-aportraitofhiswife.Wehadbeeninvitedtoseeandcriticize.Everardhimselfscowledandlookedoutofthe window; Isobel Loring moved amongst the guests, talking techniquewithunerringaccuracy.

Wemadecomments.Wehadto.Wepraisedthepaintingofthepinksatin.Thetreatmentofthat,wesaid,wasreallymarvelous.Nobodyhadpaintedsatininquitethatwaybefore.

Mrs.Lemprière,who isoneof themost intelligentartcriticsIknow, tookmeasidealmostatonce.

"Georgie," she said,"whathashedone tohimself?The thing'sdead.It'ssmooth.It's-oh!it'sdamnable."

"PortraitofaLadyinPinkSatin?"Isuggested.

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

"Toomuchwork?"Isuggested.

"Perhaps that's it. If there ever was anything there, he's killed it. Anextremely beautiful woman in a pink satin dress. Why not a coloredphotograph?"

"Whynot?"Iagreed."Doyousupposeheknows?"

"Ofcourseheknows,"saidMrs.Lemprièrescornfully."Don'tyousee theman'son edge? It comes, Idaresay, ofmixingup sentimentandbusiness.He's put hiswhole soul intopainting Isobel, because she is Isobel, and insparingher,he'slosther.He'sbeentookind.You'vegotto-todestroythefleshbeforeyoucangetatthesoulsometimes."

I nodded reflectively. Sir Rufus Herschman had not been flatteredphysically, but Everard had succeeded in putting on the canvas apersonalitythatwasunforgettable.

"And Isobel's got such a very forceful personality," continued Mrs.Lemprière.

"PerhapsEverardcan'tpaintwomen,"Isaid.

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

And itwas then,withherusualgenius foraccuracy, that shepulledoutacanvasthatwasleaningwithitsfacetothewall.Therewereabouteightofthem, stackedcarelessly. Itwaspurechance thatMrs.Lemprière selectedthe one she did - but as I said before, these things happen with Mrs.Lemprière.

"Ah!"saidMrs.Lemprièreassheturnedittothelight.

Itwasunfinished,amereroughsketch.Thewoman,orgirl-shewasnot,Ithought,more than twenty-fiveor -six -was leaning forward,herchinonherhand.Two things struckme at once: the extraordinaryvitality of thepictureandtheamazingcrueltyofit.Everardhadpaintedwithavindictivebrush. The attitude even was a cruel one - it had brought out everyawkwardness, every sharpangle, everycrudity.Itwasa study inbrown -browndress,brownbackground,browneyes-wistful,eagereyes.Eagernesswas,indeed,theprevailingnoteofit.

Mrs.Lemprièrelookedatitforsomeminutesinsilence.ThenshecalledtoEverard.

"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.

"Shedoesn'tcometotheseshows."Hepausedaminute,thenadded:"She'sWinnie'sgodmother."

Winniewashislittledaughter,agedfive.

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

"Battersea.Aflat."

"Really,"saidMrs.Lemprièreagain,andthenadded:"Andwhathassheeverdonetoyou?"

"Tome?"

"Toyou.Tomakeyouso-ruthless."

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

"You'vedone theopposite," saidMrs.Lemprière."You've caughtholdofeverydefectofhersandexaggerateditandtwistedit.You'vetriedtomakeherridiculous-butyouhaven'tsucceeded,mychild.Thatportrait, ifyoufinishit,willlive."

Everardlookedannoyed.

"It'snotbad,"hesaidlightly,"forasketch,thatis.But,ofcourse,it'snotapatch on Isobel's portrait. That's far and away the best thing I've everdone."

Hesaidthelastwordsdefiantlyandaggressively.Neitherofusanswered.

"Farandawaythebestthing,"herepeated.

Someoftheothershaddrawnnearus.They,too,caughtsightofthesketch.Therewereexclamations,comments.Theatmospherebegantobrightenup.

ItwasinthiswaythatIfirstheardofJaneHaworth.Later,Iwastomeether - twice. Iwas toheardetailsofher life fromoneofhermost intimatefriends.IwastolearnmuchfromAlanEverardhimself.Nowthattheyarebothdead,IthinkitistimetocontradictsomeofthestoriesMrs.Lemprièreisbusilyspreadingabroad.Callsomeofmystoryinventionifyouwill-itisnotfarfromthetruth.

When the guests had left, Alan Everard turned the portrait of Jane

Haworthwith its face to thewall again. Isobel came down the roomandstoodbesidehim.

"A success, do you think?" she asked thoughtfully. "Or - not quite asuccess?"

"Theportrait?"heaskedquickly.

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

"It'sthebestthingI'vedone,"Everarddeclaredaggressively.

"We're getting on," said Isobel. "Lady Charmington wants you to painther."

"Oh, Lord!" He frowned. "I'm not a fashionable portrait painter, 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, hang it! I don't want to paint Lady Charmington," he burst out,

ratherlikeapetulantchild.

Isobelsmiledalittle.Shestoodbythefirewithoutmoving.Alanstoppedhisrestless pacing and came nearer to her. What was there in her, in herstillness, her inertia, that drew him - drew him like a magnet? Howbeautifulshewas-herarmslikesculpturedwhitemarble,thepuregoldofherhair,herlips-red,fulllips.

Hekissedthem-feltthemfastenonhisown.Didanythingelsematter?

Whatwas there in Isobel that soothed you, that took all your cares fromyou?Shedrewyouintoherownbeautifulinertiaandheldyouthere,quietand content. Poppy and mandragora; you drifted there, on a dark lake,asleep.

"I'll do Lady Charmington," he said presently. "What does it matter? Ishallbebored-butafterall,paintersmusteat.There'sMr.Potsthepainter,Mrs. Pots the painter's wife, and Miss Pots the painter's daughter - allneedingsustenance."

"Absurdboy!"saidIsobel."Talkingofourdaughter-yououghttogoandseeJanesometime.Shewashereyesterday,andsaidshehadn'tseenyouformonths."

"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."

Alan lookedacrossather.Shewassittingnowona lowcouchbythe fire.Her facewashalf turnedaway, thesmile still lingeredonher lips.And atthat moment he felt bewildered, confused, as though a mist had formedroundhim,and suddenlyparting,hadgivenhimaglimpse intoa strangecountry.

Somethingsaidtohim:"WhydoesshewantyoutogoandseeJane?

There's a reason." Because with Isobel, there was bound to be a reason.TherewasnoimpulseinIsobel,onlycalculation.

"DoyoulikeJane?"heaskedsuddenly.

"She'sadear,"saidIsobel.

"Yes,butdoyoureallylikeher?"

"Of course. She's so devoted toWinnie. By the way, she wants to carryWinnieofftotheseasidenextweek.Youdon'tmind,doyou?ItwillleaveusfreeforScotland."

"Itwillbeextraordinarilyconvenient."

Itwould,indeed,bejustthat.Extraordinarilyconvenient.HelookedacrossatIsobelwithasuddensuspicion.HadsheaskedJane?Janewassoeasilyimposedupon.

Isobel got up andwent out of the room, humming to herself.Oh,well, itdidn'tmatter.Anyway,hewouldgoandseeJane.

Jane Haworth lived at the top of a block of mansion flats overlookingBattersea Park. When Everard had climbed four flights of stairs andpressed the bell, he felt annoyed with Jane. Why couldn't she livesomewheremoreget-at-able?When,nothavingobtainedananswer,hehadpressedthebellthreetimes,hisannoyancehadgrowngreater.Whycouldn'tshekeepsomeonecapableofansweringthedoor?

Suddenlyitopened,andJaneherselfstoodinthedoorway.Shewasflushed.

"Where'sAlice?"askedEverard,withoutanyattemptatgreeting.

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

"Drink,youmean?"saidEverardgrimly.

WhatapitythatJanewassuchaninveterateliar.

"Isupposethat'sit,"saidJanereluctantly.

"Letmeseeher."

He strode into the flat. Jane followed him with disarming meekness. HefoundthedelinquentAliceinthekitchen.Therewasnodoubtwhateverastohercondition.HefollowedJaneintothesittingroomingrimsilence.

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

"I know you did, Alan, but I can't do that. You forget, her husband's inprison."

"Whereheought tobe," saidEverard."Howoftenhas thatwomanbeendrunkinthethreemonthsyou'vehadher?"

"Not so verymany times; three or four perhaps. She gets depressed, youknow."

"Threeorfour!Nineortenwouldbenearerthemark.Howdoesshecook?Rottenly. Is she the least assistance or comfort to you in this flat? Nonewhatever.ForGod's sake,get ridofher tomorrowmorningandengageagirlwhoisofsomeuse."

Janelookedathimunhappily.

"Youwon't," saidEverardgloomily, sinking into abig armchair. "You'resuch an impossibly sentimental creature. What's this I hear about yourtakingWinnietotheseaside?Whosuggestedit,youorIsobel?"

Janesaidveryquickly:"Idid,ofcourse."

"Jane,"saidEverard,"ifyouwouldonlylearntospeakthetruth,Ishouldbequite fondofyou.Sitdown,and forgoodness sakedon't tellanymoreliesforatleasttenminutes."

"Oh,Alan!"saidJane,andsatdown.

Thepainterexaminedhercriticallyforaminuteortwo.Mrs.Lemprière -thatwoman - had been quite right.He had been cruel in his handlingofJane. Janewas almost, if not quite, beautiful. The long lines of herwerepure Greek. It was that eager anxiety of hers to please that made herawkward.Hehadseizedonthat-exaggeratedit-hadsharpenedthelineofherslightlypointedchin,flungherbodyintoanuglypose.

Why?Whywas it impossible forhim tobe fiveminutes in theroomwithJane without feeling violent irritation against her rising up in him? Saywhatyouwould,Janewasadearbutirritating.Hewasneversoothedandat peacewith her as hewaswith Isobel. And yet Janewas so anxious toplease,sowillingtoagreewithallhesaid,butalas!sotransparentlyunabletoconcealherrealfeelings.

Helookedroundtheroom.TypicallyJane.Somelovelythings,puregems,thatpieceofBatterseaenamel,forinstance,andtherenexttoit,anatrocityofavasehand-paintedwithroses.

Hepickedthelatterup.

"Wouldyoubeveryangry,Jane,ifIpitchedthisoutofthewindow?"

"Oh!Alan,youmustn't."

"Whatdoyouwantwithallthistrash?You'veplentyoftasteifyoucaretouseit.Mixingthingsup!"

"Iknow,Alan. It isn't that Idon'tknow.Butpeoplegiveme things.Thatvase-MissBatesbroughtitbackfromMargate-andshe'ssopoor,andhastoscrape,anditmusthavecostherquitealot-forher,youknow,andshethoughtI'dbesopleased.Isimplyhadtoputitinagoodplace."

Everardsaidnothing.Hewentonlookingaroundtheroom.Therewereoneortwoetchingsonthewalls-therewerealsoanumberofphotographsofbabies. Babies, whatever their mothers may think, do not alwaysphotographwell.AnyofJane'sfriendswhoacquiredbabieshurriedtosendphotographs of them to her, expecting these tokens to be cherished. Janehaddulycherishedthem.

"Who'sthislittlehorror?"askedEverard,inspectingapudgyadditionwithasquint."I'venotseenhimbefore."

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

"PoorMaryCarrington,"saidEverard."Isupposeyou'llpretendthatyoulikehavingthatatrociousinfantsquintingatyouallday?"

Jane'schinshotout.

"She'salovelybaby.Maryisaveryoldfriendofmine."

"Loyal Jane," said Everard smiling at her. "So Isobel landed you withWinnie,didshe?"

"Well,shedidsayyouwantedtogotoScotland,andIjumpedatit.YouwillletmehaveWinnie,won't you? I'vebeenwondering if youwould lethercometomeforages,butIhaven'tlikedtoask."

"Oh,youcanhaveher-butit'sawfullygoodofyou."

"Thenthat'sallright,"saidJanehappily.

Everardlitacigarette.

"Isobelshowyouthenewportrait?"heaskedratherindistinctly.

"Shedid."

"Whatdidyouthinkofit?"

Jane's answer came quickly - too quickly: "It's perfectly splendid.Absolutelysplendid."

Alansprangsuddenlytohisfeet.Thehandthatheldthecigaretteshook.

"Damnyou,Jane,don'tlietome!"

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

"Haven'tyoulearnedbynow,Jane,thatIknoweverytoneofyourvoice?You lie tome like a hatter so as not to hurtmy feelings, I suppose.Whycan'tyoubehonest?DoyouthinkIwantyoutotellmeathingissplendidwhen I know aswell as you do that it's not? Thedamned thing's dead -dead. There's no life in it - nothing behind,nothing but surface, damnedsmooth surface. I've cheatedmyself all along - yes, even this afternoon. Icame along to you to find out. Isobel doesn't know. But you know, youalwaysdoknow.Iknewyou'dtellmeitwasgood-you'venomoralsenseabout that sort of thing.But I can tell by the tone of your voice.When IshowedyouRomanceyoudidn'tsayanythingatall-youheldyourbreathandgaveasortofgasp."

"Alan-"

Everardgavehernochancetospeak.Janewasproducingtheeffectuponhimheknewsowell.Strangethatsogentleacreaturecouldstirhimtosuchfuriousanger.

"YouthinkI'velostthepower,perhaps,"hesaidangrily,"butIhaven't.IcandoworkeverybitasgoodasRomance-better,perhaps.I'llshowyou,JaneHaworth."

He fairly rushed out of the flat.Walking rapidly, he crossed through theParkandoverAlbertBridge.Hewas still tingling all overwith irritationandbaffledrage.Jane,indeed!Whatdidsheknowaboutpainting?

Whatwas her opinionworth?Why should he care? But he did care. Hewanted topaint something thatwouldmakeJanegasp.Hermouthwouldopenjustalittle,andhercheekswouldflushred.Shewouldlookfirstatthe

pictureandthenathim.Shewouldn'tsayanythingatallprobably.

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

A little, dingy curio shop, rather dark and musty looking. Behind thecounteraJew-asmallJewwithcunningeyes.Infrontofhimthecustomer,a big man, sleek, well fed, opulent, bloated, a great jowl on him. Abovethem,onashelf,abustofwhitemarble.Thelightthere,ontheboy'smarbleface, the deathless beauty of old Greece, scornful,unheeding of sale andbarter.TheJew,therichcollector,theGreekboy'shead.Hesawthemall.

"TheConnoisseur,that'swhatI'llcallit,"mutteredAlanEverard,steppingoffthecurbandjustmissingbeingannihilatedbyapassingbus."Yes,TheConnoisseur.I'llshowJane."

Whenhearrivedhome,hepassedstraightintothestudio.Isobelfoundhimthere,sortingoutcanvases.

"Alan,don'tforgetwe'rediningwiththeMarches-"

Everardshookhisheadimpatiently.

"DamntheMarches. I'mgoing towork. I'vegotholdof something,but Imustgetitfixed-fixedatonceonthecanvasbeforeitgoes.Ringthemup.TellthemI'mdead."

Isobellookedathimthoughtfullyforamomentortwo,andthenwentout.Sheunderstoodtheartoflivingwithageniusverythoroughly.Shewenttothetelephoneandmadesomeplausibleexcuse.

Shelookedroundher,yawningalittle.Thenshesatdownatherdeskandbegantowrite.

Many thanks for your cheque received today. You are good to yourgodchild. A hundred pounds will do all sorts of things. Children are aterribleexpense.YouaresofondofWinniethatIfeltIwasnotdoingwrongincomingtoyouforhelp.Alan,likeallgeniuses,canonlyworkatwhathewants to work at - and unfortunately that doesn't always keep the pot

boiling.Hopetoseeyousoon.

Yours,IsobelWhenTheConnoisseurwasfinished,somemonthslater,AlaninvitedJanetocomeandseeit.Thethingwasnotquiteashehadconceivedit-thatwasimpossibletohopefor-butitwasnearenough.Hefelttheglowofthecreator.Hehadmadethisthinganditwasgood.

Jane did not this time tell him it was splendid. The color crept into hercheeksandherlipsparted.ShelookedatAlan,andhesawinhereyes thatwhichhewishedtosee.Janeknew.

Hewalkedonair.HehadshownJane!

The picture off hismind, he began to notice his immediate surroundingsoncemore.

Winniehadbenefitedenormously fromher fortnightat the seaside,but itstruckhimthatherclotheswereveryshabby.HesaidsotoIsobel.

"Alan! You who never notice anything! But I like children to be simplydressed-Ihatethemallfussedup."

"There'sadifferencebetweensimplicityanddarnsandpatches."

Isobel saidnothing,but shegotWinnieanew frock.Twodays laterAlanwas strugglingwith income-tax returns.His ownpassbook lay in front ofhim.Hewas hunting through Isobel's desk for herswhenWinnie dancedintotheroomwithadisreputabledoll.

"Daddy,I'vegotariddle.Canyouguessit?'Withinawallaswhiteasmilk,withinacurtainsoftassilk,bathedinaseaofcrystalclear,agoldenappledothappear.'Guesswhatthatis?"

"Yourmother,"saidAlanabsently.Hewasstillhunting.

"Daddy!"Winnie gave a scream of laughter. "It's an egg.Why did youthinkitwasMummy?"

Alansmiledtoo.

"Iwasn'treallylistening,"hesaid."AndthewordssoundedlikeMummy,somehow."

Awall aswhite asmilk.A curtain.Crystal. The golden apple.Yes, it didsuggestIsobeltohim.Curiousthings,words.

Hehadfoundthepassbooknow.HeorderedWinnieperemptorilyfromtheroom.Tenminuteslaterhelookedup,startledbyasharpejaculation.

"Alan!"

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

"Whatbusinesshadyoutotouchmypassbook?"

Hestaredather,astonished.Shewasangry.Hehadneverseenherangrybefore.

"Ihadnoideayouwouldmind."

"Idomind-verymuchindeed.Youhavenobusinesstotouchmythings."

Alansuddenlybecameangrytoo.

"Iapologize.ButsinceIhavetouchedyourthings,perhapsyouwillexplainoneortwoentriesthatpuzzleme.AsfarasIcansee,nearly fivehundredpounds has been paid into your account this year which I cannot check.Wheredoesitcomefrom?"

Isobelhadrecoveredhertemper.Shesankintoachair.

"You needn't be so solemn about it, Alan," she said lightly. "It isn't thewagesofsin,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."

Alan said nothing. He was thinking of Winnie's frocks - all darns andpatches.

"Youraccount'soverdrawn,too,Isobel?"

"Isit?That'salwayshappeningtome."

"Yes,butthatfivehundred-"

"MydearAlan.I'vespentitonWinnieinthewaythatseemedbesttome.IcanassureyouJaneisquitesatisfied."

Alanwasnotsatisfied.YetsuchwasthepowerofIsobel'scalmthathesaidnothingmore.After all, Isobelwas careless inmoneymatters. Shehadn'tmeant touse forherselfmoneygiven toher for thechild.Areceipted billcame that day addressed by a mistake to Mr. Everard. It was from adressmaker inHanoverSquareandwas for twohundredoddpounds.Hegave it to Isobel without a word. She glanced over it, smiled, and said:"Poorboy, I suppose it seemsanawful lot toyou,butone reallymust bemoreorlessclothed."

ThenextdayhewenttoseeJane.

Janewas irritatingandelusiveasusual.Hewasn't tobother.Winniewasher godchild.Women understood these things,men didn't.Of course shedidn'twantWinnietohavefivehundredpounds'worthoffrocks.WouldhepleaseleaveittoherandIsobel?Theyunderstoodeachotherperfectly.

Alanwentawayinastateofgrowingdissatisfaction.Heknewperfectlywellthathehadshirkedtheonequestionhereallywishedtoask.Hewantedtosay:"Has Isobel everaskedyou formoney forWinnie?"Hedidn't say it

becausehewasafraidthatJanemightnotliewellenoughtodeceivehim.

Buthewasworried.Janewaspoor.Heknewshewaspoor.Shemustn't -mustn'tdenudeherself.HemadeuphismindtospeaktoIsobel.Isobelwascalmandreassuring.Ofcourseshewouldn'tletJanespendmorethanshecouldafford.

AmonthlaterJanedied.

It was influenza, followed by pneumonia. She made Alan Everard herexecutorandleftallshehadtoWinnie.Butitwasn'tverymuch.

ItwasAlan'stasktogothroughJane'spapers.Sheleftarecordtherethatwascleartofollow-numerousevidencesofactsofkindness,beggingletters,gratefulletters.

And lastly,he foundherdiary.With itwasascrapofpaper:"Tobereadafter my death by Alan Everard. He has often reproached me with notspeakingthetruth.Thetruthisallhere."

Sohecametoknowatlast,findingtheoneplacewhereJanehaddaredtobehonest.Itwasarecord,verysimpleandunforced,ofherloveforhim.

Therewasverylittlesentimentaboutit-nofinelanguage.Buttherewasnoblinkingoffacts.

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

ItwasnotJane'sfaultthatAlanfoundothermatters.Janewasloyal-butshewasalsountidy;shefilledherdrawerstoofull.Shehad,shortlybeforeher death, burned carefully all Isobel's letters. The oneAlan found waswedged behind a drawer. When he had read it, themeaning of certaincabalistic signson the counterfoils of Jane'scheque book became clear tohim. In this particular letter Isobel had hardly troubled to keep up thepretenceofthemoneybeingrequiredforWinnie.

Alansat infrontofthedeskstaringwithunseeingeyesoutof thewindow

foralongtime.Finallyheslippedthechequebookintohispocketand lefttheflat.HewalkedbacktoChelsea,consciousofanangerthatgrewrapidlystronger.

Isobelwasoutwhenhegotback,andhewassorry.Hehadsoclearlyinhismindwhathewantedtosay. Instead,hewentupto thestudioand pulledouttheunfinishedportraitofJane.HesetitonaneaselneartheportraitofIsobelinpinksatin.

TheLemprièrewomanhadbeenright:therewaslifeinJane'sportrait.Helookedather,theeagereyes,thebeautythathehadtriedsounsuccessfullyto deny her. Thatwas Jane - the aliveness,more than anything else, wasJane.Shewas,hethought,themostalivepersonhehadevermet,somuchso,thatevennowhecouldnotthinkofherasdead.

And he thought of his other pictures - Color, Romance, Sir RufusHerschman.Theyhadall,inaway,beenpicturesofJane.Shehadkindledthesparkforeachoneofthem-hadsenthimawayfumingandfretting-toshowher!Andnow?Janewasdead.Wouldheeverpaintapicture-arealpicture-again?Helookedagainattheeagerfaceonthecanvas.Perhaps.Janewasn'tveryfaraway.

Asoundmadehimwheelround.Isobelhadcomeintothestudio.Shewasdressedfordinnerinastraightwhitegownthatshowedupthepuregoldofherhair.

Shestoppeddeadandcheckedthewordsonherlips.Eyeinghimwarily,shewentovertothedivanandsatdown.Shehadeveryappearanceofcalm.

Alantookthechequebookfromhispocket.

"I'vebeengoingthroughJane'spapers."

"Yes?"

Hetriedtoimitatehercalm,tokeephisvoicefromshaking.

"Forthelastfouryearsshe'sbeensupplyingyouwithmoney."

"Yes.ForWinnie."

"No,notforWinnie,"shoutedEverard."Youpretended,bothofyou,thatitwasforWinnie,butyoubothknewthatthatwasn'tso.Doyourealize thatJanehasbeen sellingher securities, living fromhand tomouth, to supplyyouwithclothes-clothesthatyoudidn'treallyneed?"

Isobel never took her eyes from his face. She settled her body morecomfortablyonthecushionsasawhitePersiancatmightdo.

"Ican'thelp it ifJanedenudedherselfmore thansheshouldhavedone,"she said. "I supposed she could afford themoney. She wasalways crazyaboutyou-Icouldseethat,ofcourse.Somewiveswouldhavekickedupafuss about theway youwere always rushing off to see her, and spendinghoursthere.Ididn't."

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

"Youaresayingveryoffensivethings,Alan.Becareful."

"Aren'ttheytrue?WhydidyoufinditsoeasytogetmoneyoutofJane?"

"Notforloveofme,certainly.Itmusthavebeenforloveofyou."

"That's justwhat itwas," saidAlan simply. "She paid formy freedom -freedomtoworkinmyownway.Solongasyouhadasufficiencyofmoney,you'dleavemealone-notbadgermetopaintacrowdofawfulwomen."

Isobelsaidnothing.

"Well?"criedAlanangrily.

Herquiescenceinfuriatedhim.

Isobel was looking at the floor. Presently she raised her head and saidquietly:

"Comehere,Alan."

She touched the divan at her side.Uneasily, unwillingly, he came and satthere,notlookingather.Butheknewthathewasafraid.

"Alan,"saidIsobelpresently.

"Well?"

Hewasirritable,nervous.

"Allthatyousaymaybetrue.Itdoesn'tmatter.I'mlikethat.Iwantthings-clothes,money,you.Jane'sdead,Alan."

"Whatdoyoumean?"

"Jane'sdead.Youbelongtomealtogethernow.Youneverdidbefore-notquite."

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

"Nowyoushallbeallmine."

HeunderstoodIsobelthenashehadneverunderstoodherbefore.

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

"Putitlikethatifyouplease.Whatarewords?"

He felt her arms round his neck, white, smooth, firm as a wall. Wordsdancedthroughhisbrain."Awallaswhiteasmilk."Alreadyhewasinsidethewall.Couldhestillescape?Didhewanttoescape?

Heheardhervoicecloseagainsthisear-poppyandmandragora.

"Whatelseistheretolivefor?Isn'tthisenough?Love-happiness-success-love-"

Thewallwasgrowingupallaroundhimnow-"thecurtainsoftassilk,"thecurtainwrappinghimround,stiflinghimalittle,butsosoft,sosweet!Nowtheyweredrifting together, atpeace, outon the crystalsea.Thewallwasvery high now, shutting out all those other things - those dangerous,disturbingthingsthathurt-thatalwayshurt.Outontheseaofcrystal,the

goldenapplebetweentheirhands.

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 BaghdadChest 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 isrevolting,"I said,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 reason why itshouldnotbeusedagain.Composeyourdrama."Ihadpickedupthepaperandwasstudyingtheratherblurredreproductionofaphotograph.

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

Belowthepicturerantheinscription:ArecentportraitofMrs.Clayton,thewifeofthemurderedmanPoirottookthepaperfromme.

"Yes,"hesaid."She isbeautiful.Doubtlessshe isof thosebornto troublethesoulsofmen."

Hehandedthepaperbacktomewithasigh.

"Dieumerci, I am not of an ardent temperament. It has savedme frommanyembarrassments.Iamdulythankful."

Idonotrememberthatwediscussedthecasefurther.Poirotdisplayednospecial interest in itat the time.The factswere soclear,and therewas solittleambiguityaboutthem,thatdiscussionseemedmerelyfutile.

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

"I'lljusthavetimetodropinandexplaintooldJack,"wentonClayton.

"Marguerita is going, of course. I'm sorry about it, but Jack willunderstandhowitis."

Mr.Claytonwas as good as hisword.He arrived atMajorRich's roomsabouttwentytoeight.Themajorwasoutatthetime,buthismanservant,who knew Mr. Clayton well, suggested that he come in and wait. Mr.Claytonsaid thathehadnot time,but thathewouldcome inandwriteanote. He added that he was on his way to catch a train. The valetaccordinglyshowedhimintothesitting-room.

AboutfiveminuteslaterMajorRich,whomusthavelethimselfinwithoutthevalethearinghim,openedthedoorof thesitting-room,calledhismanand told him to go out and get some cigarettes. On his return the man

brought them to hismaster, whowas then alone in the sitting-room.Theman naturally concluded that Mr. Clayton had left. The guests arrivedshortlyafterwards.TheycomprisedMrs.Clayton,MajorCurtissandaMr.andMrs. Spence. The eveningwas spentdancing to the phonograph andplayingpoker.Theguestsleftshortlyaftermidnight.

The following morning, on coming to do the sitting-room, the valet wasstartledtofindadeepstaindiscoloringthecarpetbelowandinfrontofapieceoffurniturewhichMajorRichhadbroughtfromtheEastandwhichwascalledtheBaghdadChest.

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

Terrified,themanranoutoftheflatandfetchedthenearestpoliceman.ThedeadmanprovedtobeMr.Clayton.ThearrestofMajorRichfollowedveryshortly afterward. Themajor's defense, it wasunderstood, consisted of asturdy denial of everything. He had not seen Mr. Clayton the precedingeveningandthefirsthehadheardofhisgoingtoScotlandhadbeenfromMrs.Clayton.

Suchwerethebaldfactsofthecase.Innuendoesandsuggestionsnaturallyabounded. The close friendship and intimacy of Major Rich and Mrs.Claytonweresostressedthatonlyafoolcouldfailtoreadbetweenthelines.Themotiveforthecrimewasplainlyindicated.Longexperiencehastaughtme tomake allowance for baselesscalumny. Themotive suggestedmight,foralltheevidence,beentirelynonexistent.Somequiteotherreasonsmighthaveprecipitatedtheissue.Butonethingdidstandoutclearly-thatRichwasthemurderer.

AsIsay,themattermighthaverestedthere,haditnothappenedthatPoirotand I were due at a party given by Lady Chatterton that night. Poirot,whilstbemoaningsocialengagementsanddeclaringapassion forsolitude,reallyenjoyedtheseaffairsenormously.Tobemadeafussofandtreatedasalionsuitedhimdowntotheground.

On occasions he positively purred! I have seen him blandly receiving themost outrageous compliments as no more than his due, anduttering themostblatantlyconceitedremarks,suchasIcanhardlybeartosetdown.

Sometimeshewouldarguewithmeonthesubject.

"But, my friend, I am not an Anglo-Saxon. Why should I play thehypocrite?Si,si,thatiswhatyoudo,allofyou.Theairmanwhohasmadeadifficult flight, the tennis champion – they look down their noses, theymutter inaudibly that 'it is nothing.' But do they really think thatthemselves?Notforamoment.Theywouldadmiretheexploit insomeoneelse. So, being reasonable men, they admire it in themselves. But theirtrainingpreventsthemfromsayingso.Me,Iamnot likethat.Thetalentsthat Ipossess - Iwould salute them inanother.As ithappens, inmyownparticularline,thereisnoonetotouchme.C'estdommage,asitis,IadmitfreelyandwithoutthehypocrisythatIamagreatman.Ihavetheorder,themethod and the psychology in anunusual degree. I am, in fact, HerculePoirot!WhyshouldIturnredandstammerandmutter intomychinthatreallyIamverystupid?Itwouldnotbetrue."

"ThereiscertainlyonlyoneHerculePoirot,"Iagreed-notwithoutaspiceof malice, of which, fortunately, Poirot remained quite oblivious. LadyChatterton was one of Poirot's most ardent admirers. Starting from themysteriousconductofaPekingese,hehadunraveledachainwhichledtoanoted burglar and housebreaker. Lady Chatterton had been loud in hispraiseseversince.

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

Itwasabouthalf-pastelevenwhenLadyChatterton,bearingdownuponus,whisked Poirot neatly out of an admiring group, and carriedhim off - Ineedhardlysay,withmyselfintow.

"I want you to go into my little room upstairs," said Lady Chattertonrather breathlessly as soon as shewas out of earshot of her other guests."Youknowwhereitis,M.Poirot.You'llfindsomeonetherewhoneedsyourhelp very badly - and youwill help her, I know. She's one ofmydearestfriends-sodon'tsayno."

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

Andtakingtheanswerforgranted,shewithdrewwiththesameenergythatcharacterizedallhermovements.

Mrs.Claytonhadbeensittinginachairbythewindow.Sherosenowandcametowardus.Dressed indeepmourning, thedullblackshowedup herfaircoloring.Shewasasingularlylovelywoman,andtherewasaboutherasimplechildlikecandorwhichmadehercharmquiteirresistible.

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

Shehadheld out her hand andPoirot had taken it.Heheld it now for amomentor twowhilehe stoodscrutinizingherclosely.Therewasnothingill-bredinhismannerofdoingit.Itwasmorethekindbutsearching lookthatafamousconsultantgivesanewpatientasthelatterisusheredintohispresence.

"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."

"Yet it isverysimple.Thepolice- the lawyers- theywillallaskthesamequestion:WhydidMajorRich killM.Clayton? I ask the opposite. I askyou,madame,whydidMajorRichnotkillMajorClayton?"

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

"You know Major Rich so well," repeated Poirot tonelessly. The colorflamedintohercheeks.

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

"C'estvrai.Thatiswhattheywillaskyouabout-howwellyouknewMajorRich. Perhaps you will speak the truth, perhaps you will lie. It is verynecessaryforawomantoliesometimes.Womenmustdefend themselves -and the lie, it is a goodweapon. But there are threepeople, madame, towhom a woman should speak the truth. To herFather 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."Youhavesavedmeagoodquarterofanhourbycomingtothepointwithoutbeatingthebush.Youhavethegoodsense.Nowyourhusband-didhesuspectyourfeelings?"

"Idon'tknow,"saidMargueritaslowly."I thought lately - thathemight.Hismannerhasbeendifferent.Butthatmayhavebeenmerelymyfancy."

"Nobodyelseknew?"

"Idonotthinkso."

"And-pardonme,madame-youdidnotloveyourhusband?"Therewere,Ithink,veryfewwomenwhowouldhaveansweredthatquestionassimplyasthiswomandid.Theywouldhavetriedtoexplaintheirfeelings.

MarueritaClaytonsaidquitesimply:"No."

"Bien.Nowweknowwhereweare.Accordingtoyou,madame,MajorRichdidnotkillyourhusband,butyourealizethatalltheevidencepointstohishavingdoneso.Areyouaware,privately,ofanyflawinthatevidence?"

"No.Iknownothing."

"WhendidyourhusbandfirstinformyouofhisvisittoScotland?"

"Justafterlunch.Hesaiditwasabore,buthe'dhavetogo.Something todowithlandvalues,hesaiditwas."

"Andafterthat?"

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

"Now as to Major Rich - what was his manner that evening? Just asusual?"

"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.HewassurprisedtohearthatEdwardhadgonetoScotland,butnotundulyso."

"Andnothingelseunusualoccurstoyouinconnectionwiththatevening?"

Margueritathought.

"No,nothingwhatever."

"You-noticedthechest?"

Sheshookherheadwithalittleshiver.

"Idon'tevenrememberit-orwhatitwaslike.Weplayedpokermostoftheevening."

"Whowon?"

"MajorRich.Ihadverybadluck,andsodidMajorCurtiss.TheSpenceswonalittle,butMajorRichwasthechiefwinner."

"Thepartybrokeup-when?"

"Abouthalf-pasttwelve,Ithink.Wealllefttogether."

"Ah!"

Poirotremainedsilent,lostinthought.

"IwishIcouldbemorehelpfultoyou,"saidMrs.Clayton."Iseemtobeabletotellyousolittle."

"Aboutthepresent-yes.Whataboutthepast,madame?"

"Thepast?"

"Yes.Havetherenotbeenincidents?"

Sheflushed.

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

"ItwasnotpreciselyofthatincidentthatIwasthinking."

"That ridiculous duel? But Italians do fight duels. I was so thankful themanwasn'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.

Claytonandhehadhadadrink togetherat theclub justbeforehalf-pastseven,andClaytonhadthenannouncedhisintentionoflookinginonMajorRichonhiswaytoEuston.

"What wasMr. Clayton's manner?Was he depressed or cheerful?"Themajorconsidered.Hewasaslow-spokenman.

"Seemedinfairlygoodspirits,"hesaidatlast.

"HesaidnothingaboutbeingonbadtermswithMajorRich?''

"GoodLord,no.Theywerepals."

"He didn't object to his wife's friendship withMajor Rich?"The major

becameveryredintheface.

"You'vebeenreadingthosedamnednewspapers,withtalltalesandlies.Ofcourse he didn't object. Why, he said to me: 'Marguerita's going, ofcourse.'"

"Isee.Nowduringtheevening-themannerofMajorRich-wasthatmuchasusual?"

"Ididn'tnoticeanydifference."

"Andmadame?She,too,wasasusual?"

"Well,"he reflected, "now I come to think of it, shewas abit quiet.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,butheraccountoftheeveningtalliedwiththatofMajorCurtissexceptthatshedisplayedaslightacidityconcerningMajorRich'sluckatcards.

Earlier in the morning Poirot had had a telephone conversation withInspector Japp of ScotlandYard.As a result we arrived atMajorRich'sroomsandfoundhismanservant,Burgoyne,expectingus.

Thevalet'sevidencewasverypreciseandclear.

Mr.Claytonhadarrivedattwentyminutestoeight.UnluckilyMajorRichhadjust thatveryminutegoneout.Mr.Claytonhadsaidthathecouldn'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 itwas about tenminutes later thatMajorRich calledhimand senthimout for cigarettes.No, he has not gone into the sitting-room. MajorRich had stood in thedoorway.Hehadreturnedwiththecigarettesfiveminuteslaterandonthisoccasionhehasgoneintothesitting-room,whichwasthenempty,saveforhis master, who was standing by the window smoking. His master hasinquiredifhisbathwerereadyandonbeingtold iswashadproceededtotakeit.He,Burgoyne,hadnotmentionedMr.Clayton,asheassumedthathis master had found Mr. Clayton there and let him out himself. Hismaster’smanner hadbeen precisely the same as usual.He had taken hisbath, changed, andshortly after,Mr. andMrs. Spence had arrived, to befollowedbyMajorCurtissandMrs.Clayton.

It had not occurred to him, Burgoyne explained, thatMr. Claytonmighthaveleftbeforehismaster'sreturn.Todoso,Mr.Claytonwouldhavehadto bang the front door behind him and that the valet was sure hewouldhaveheard.

Still inthesameimpersonalmanner,Burgoyneproceededtohis findingofthebody.Forthefirsttimemyattentionwasdirectedtothe fatalchest.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'tremembereverseeingthoseholes in thepast,thoughmaybeIwouldn'tnoticethem."

"Itmakesnomatter,"saidPoirot.

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

"Tellme,"hesaid."Whenyoubroughtthecigarettesintoyourmasterthatnight, was there not something out of place in the room?" Burgoynehesitatedforaminute,thenwithsomeslightreluctancehereplied,"It'soddyour saying that, sir.Nowyoucome tomention it, therewas.That screenthere that cuts off the draft from the bedroomdoor - itwasmoved a bitmoretotheleft."

"Likethis?"

Poirotdartednimblyforwardandpulledatthescreen.Itwasahandsomeaffairofpaintedleather.Italreadyslightlyobscuredtheviewof thechest,

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,thatMajorRichfailed torealize that the valet would certainly discover the body in themorning?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.Veryremarkableand

interesting,that."

"Curtissmighthaveseenthestainswhenhewaschangingtherecords thenightbefore?"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'clockat the outside -but seven-thirty to eightseemsclearlyindicated."

"There is a second hypothesis possible," Poirot said when we were backhome."Iwonder ifyousee it,Hastings.Tome it isveryplain,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."

"ButthevaletsaysthathewouldhaveheardClaytonleavebecauseof thebangofthedoor.Andalso,ifClaytonhadleft,whendidhereturn?

Hecouldn'thavereturnedaftermidnightbecausethedoctorsayspositivelythat he was dead at least two hours before that. That only leaves onealternative."

"Yes,monami?"saidPoirot.

"That in the fiveminutesClaytonwasalone in the sitting room, someoneelse came in and killed him. But therewe have the sameobjection.Onlysomeonewithakeycouldcomeinwithoutthevalet'sknowing,and inthesameway themurdereron leavingwouldhavehad tobang thedoor, andthatagainthevaletwouldhaveheard."

"Exactly,"saidPoirot."Andtherefore-"

"Andtherefore-nothing,"Isaid."Icanseenoothersolution."

"Itisapity,"murmuredPoirot."Anditisreallysoexceedinglysimple-astheclearblueeyesofMadameClayton."

"Youreallybelieve-"

"I believe nothing - until I have got proof. One little proof will 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,acoupleofbillsandawornsnapshot

ofMargueritaClayton.Therewasalsoapocket-knife,agoldpencilandacumbersomewoodentool.

ItwasonthislatterthatPoirotswooped.Heunscreweditandseveralsmallbladesfellout.

"Yousee,Hastings,agimletandalltherestofit.Ah!itwouldbeamatterofaveryfewminutestoboreafewholesinthechestwiththis.'

"Thoseholeswesaw?"

"Precisely."

"YoumeanitwasClaytonwhoboredthemhimself?''

"Maisoui,maisoui!Whatdidtheysuggesttoyou,thoseholes?Theywerenottoseethrough,becausetheywereat thebackof thechest.Whatwerethey for, then?Clearly forair?Butyoudonotmakeairholes for adeadbody, so clearly they were not made by the murderer.They suggest onething-andonethingonly-thatamanwasgoingtohideinthatchest.Andatonce,onthathypothesis,thingsbecomeintelligible.Mr.ClaytonisjealousofhiswifeandRich.Heplaystheold,oldtrickofpretendingtogoaway.HewatchesRichgoout,thenhegainsadmission, is leftalonetowriteanote,quicklyboresthoseholesandhidesinsidethechest.Hiswifeiscomingtherethat night. PossiblyRich will put the others off, possibly she will remainafter the others have gone, or pretend to go and return. Whatever it is,Clayton will know. Anything is preferable to the ghastly torment ofsuspicionheisenduring."

"Then youmean thatRichkilledhimafter 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."

"Whowentbehindthatscreentowindupthephonographandchange therecords?Thephonographandthechestweresidebyside,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, theconcealment inthechest, thefinaltouchofmovingthescreen.NotsothatClaytoncanraisethelidalittleandgetrelief-no,sothathe,Curtiss,canraisethatlidunobserved.TheplanisCurtiss',andobservethebeautyofit,Hastings. IfRich had observed the screenwas out of place andmoved itback-well,noharmisdone.Hecanmakeanotherplan.Claytonhides inthechest, themildnarcotic thatCurtisshadadministered takeseffect.Hesinks into unconsciousness.Curtiss lifts up the lid and strikes - and thephonographgoesonplayingWalkingMyBabyBackHome."

Ifoundmyvoice."Why?Butwhy?"

Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.

"Whydidamanshoothimself?WhydidtwoItaliansfightaduel?

Curtiss is of a dark passionate temperament. He wanted MargueritaClayton.With her husband andRich out of theway, shewould, or so hethought,turntohim."

He added musingly: "These simple childlike women... they are verydangerous.ButmonDieu!whatanartisticmasterpiece!Itgoestomyheart

to hang aman like that. I may be a genius myself, but I am capable ofrecognizinggenius inotherpeople.Aperfectmurder,monami.I,HerculePoirot,sayittoyou.Aperfectmurder.Épatant!''

WHILETHELIGHTLASTS

TheFordcarbumpedfromruttorut,andthehotAfricansunpoureddownunmercifully.Oneithersideoftheso-calledroadstretchedanunbrokenlineoftreesandscrub,risingandfallingingentlyundulatinglinesasfarastheeye could reach, the coloringa soft, deepyellow—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 thathewaswonttoalludeinhisownmindtoDeirdreCrozier'sfirsthusband,killedinthefirstyearofthewar.Killed,too,inthecampaignagainstGermanWestAfrica.Naturalsheshould,perhaps-hestoleaglanceather,her fairness,thepinkandwhitesmoothnessofhercheek,theroundedlinesofherfigure- rathermore rounded perhaps than they had been in those far-off dayswhenshehadpassivelypermittedhimtobecomeengagedtoher,andthen,inthatfirstemotionalscareofwar,hadabruptlycasthimasideandmadeawarweddingofitwiththatlean,sunburnedboyloverofhers,TimNugent.

Well,well, the fellowwasdead - gallantlydead - andhe,GeorgeCrozier,hadmarriedthegirlhehadalwaysmeanttomarry.Shewasfondofhim,too;howcouldshehelpitwhenhewasreadytogratifyhereverywishandhadthemoneytodoit,too!Hereflectedwithsomecomplacencyonhislastgift toher, atKimberley,where, owing tohis friendshipwithsome of thedirectorsofDeBeers,hehadbeenabletopurchaseadiamondwhich,intheordinaryway,wouldnothavebeeninthemarket,astonenotremarkableastosize,butofaveryexquisiteandrareshade,apeculiardeepamber,almostoldgold,adiamondsuchasyoumightnotfindinahundredyears.Andthelook in her eyeswhenhegave it to her!Womenwere all the same aboutdiamonds.

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'sprominence inUnion Tobacco. He introduced his daughter-in-law, who shepherdedDeirdre throughthecool,darkeninghall toabedroombeyond,where shecould remove the veil with which she was always careful to shield hercomplexionwhenmotoring.Assheunfastenedthepitsinherusualleisurely,graceful fashion, Deirdre's eyes swept round the whitewashed ugliness ofthebareroom.No luxurieshere,andDeirdre,who lovedcomfortasacatlovescream,shiveredalittle.Onthewallatextconfrontedher."Whatshallit profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?" itdemanded of all and sundry, andDeirdre, pleasantly conscious that thequestion had nothing to do with her, turned to accompany her shy andrathersilentguide.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?Didnotathousandtorturesbesetthelover'sheart?

She had lived intensely in that short space, but had she ever known thepeace, the leisure, the quiet contentment of her present life? And for thefirsttimesheadmitted,somewhatunwillingly,thatperhapsallhadbeenforthebest.

"Iwouldn'thave liked livingouthere. Imightn'thavebeenable tomakeTimhappy.Imighthavedisappointedhim.Georgelovesme,andI'mveryfondofhim,andhe'svery,verygoodtome.Why,lookatthatdiamondheboughtmeonly theotherday."And, thinkingof it,hereyelidsdroopedalittleinpurepleasure.

"Thisiswherewethreadtheleaves."Waltersledthewayintoalow, longshed.On the floor were vast heaps of green leaves, andwhite-clad black"boys"squattedroundthem,pickingandrejectingwithdeftfingers,sortingthemintosizes,andstringingthembymeansofprimitiveneedlesonalongline of string. They worked with a cheerful leisureliness, jesting amongstthemselves,andshowingtheirwhiteteethastheylaughed.

"Now,outhere-"

They passed through the shed into the daylight again, where the lines ofleaveshungdryinginthesun.Deirdresniffeddelicatelyatthefaint,almostimperceptiblefragrancethatfilledtheair.

Walters led theway intoothershedswhere the tobacco,kissedbythesun

intofaintyellowdiscoloration,underwentitsfurthertreatment.Darkhere,withthebrownswingingmassesabove,readytofall topowderataroughtouch. The fragrance was stronger, almost overpowering it seemed toDeirdre,andsuddenlyasortofterrorcameuponher,afearofsheknewnotwhat, that drove her from thatmenacing, scented obscurity out into thesunlight.Croziernotedherpallor.

"What'sthematter,mydear,don'tyoufeelwell?Thesun,perhaps.Betternotcomewithusroundtheplantations?Eh?"

Walterswas solicitous.Mrs.Crozier hadbetter go back to the house andrest.Hecalledtoamanalittledistanceaway.

"Mr.Arden-Mrs.Crozier.Mrs.Crozier'sfeelingalittledoneupwiththeheat,Arden.Justtakeherbacktothehouse,willyou?"

Themomentaryfeelingofdizzinesswaspassing.DeirdrewalkedbyArden'sside.Shehadasyethardlyglancedathim.

"Deirdre!"

Herheartgavealeap,andthenstoodstill.Onlyonepersonhadeverspokenhernamelikethat,withthefaintstressonthefirstsyllablethatmadeofitacaress.

Sheturnedandstaredatthemanbyherside.Hewasburnedalmostblackbythesun,hewalkedwithalimp,andonthecheeknearerherwasa longscarwhichalteredhisexpression,butsheknewhim.

"Tim!"

For an eternity, it seemed to her, they gazed at each other, mute andtrembling,andthen,withoutknowinghoworwhy,theywereineachother'sarms.Timerolledbackforthem.Thentheydrewapartagain,andDeirdre,consciousassheputitoftheidiocyofthequestion,said:"Thenyou'renotdead?"

"No,theymusthavemistakenanotherchapforme.Iwasbadlyknockedonthehead,but I came toandmanaged to crawl into thebush.After that Idon't know what happened for months and months, but a friendly tribe

lookedafterme,andatlastIgotmyproperwitsagainandmanagedtogetbacktocivilization."

Hepaused."Ifoundyou'dbeenmarriedsixmonths."

Deirdre cried out: "Oh, Tim, understand, please understand! It was soawful,the loneliness -andthepoverty.Ididn'tmindbeingpoorwithyou,butwhenIwasaloneIhadn'tthenervetostandupagainstthesordidnessofitall."

"It's all right, Deirdre; I did understand. I know you always have had ahankeringafter the fleshpots. I tookyou fromthemonce -but thesecondtime,well -mynerve failed. Iwasprettybadlybrokenup,yousee, couldhardlywalkwithoutacrutch,andthentherewasthisscar."

Sheinterruptedhimpassionately.

"DoyouthinkIwouldhavecaredforthat?"

"No,Iknowyouwouldn't.Iwasafool.Somewomendidmind,youknow.ImadeupmymindI'dmanagetogetaglimpseofyou.Ifyoulookedhappy,if I thoughtyouwerecontented tobewithCrozier -why, thenI'dremaindead.Ididseeyou.Youwerejustgettingintoabigcar.Youhadonsomelovelysablefurs-thingsI'dneverbeabletogiveyouifIworkedmyfingersto the bone - and - well - you seemed happy enough. Ihadn't the samestrengthandcourage,thesamebeliefinmyself,thatI'dhadbeforethewar.AllIcouldseewasmyself,brokenanduseless,barelyabletoearnenoughtokeep you - and you looked so beautiful,Deirdre, such a queen amongstwomen, so worthy to have furs and jewels and lovely clothes and all thehundredandoneluxuriesCroziercouldgiveyou.That-and-well,thepain- of seeingyou together,decidedme.Everyonebelievedmedead. Iwouldstaydead."

"Thepain!"repeatedDeirdreinalowvoice.

"Well,damnitall,Deirdre,ithurt!Itisn'tthatIblameyou.Idon't.Butithurt."

Theywerebothsilent.ThenTimraisedherfacetohisandkisseditwithanewtenderness.

"Butthat'sallovernow,sweetheart.Theonlythingtodecideishowwe'regoingtobreakittoCrozier."

"Oh!"Shedrewherselfawayabruptly."Ihadn'tthought-"ShebrokeoffasCrozierandthemanagerappearedroundtheangleofthepath.Withaswift turnof thehead shewhispered:"Donothingnow.Leave it tome. 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, and a growing desire to postpone the revelationas long asmight be.Tomorrow would be soon enough. There would be plenty of time beforethreeo'clock.

Thehotelwasuncomfortable.Theirroomwasonthegroundfloor,lookingoutontoaninnercourt.Deirdrestoodthateveningsniffingthestaleairandglancing distastefully at the tawdry furniture. Hermind flew to the easyluxuryofMonktonCourtamidsttheSurreypinewoods.Whenhermaidleftherat last, shewentslowly toher jewelcase. In thepalmofherhandthegoldendiamondreturnedherstare.

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.Thethrobbingdarknesswaspunctuatedbytheubiquitouspingshehad learned to dread. She awokewhite and listless. Impossible to start ascenesoearlyintheday!

She lay in thesmall,closeroomall themorning,resting.Lunchtime came

uponherwithasenseofshock.Astheysatdrinkingcoffee,GeorgeCrozierproposedadrivetotheMatopos.

"Plentyoftimeifwestartatonce."

Deirdre shookherhead,pleadingaheadache, and she thought toherself:"Thatsettles it. Ican'trush the thing.Afterall,whatdoesadaymore orlessmatter?I'llexplaintoTim."

ShewavedgoodbyetoCrozierasherattledoffinthebatteredFord.Then,glancingatherwatch,shewalkedslowlytothemeetingplace.

The café was deserted at this hour. They sat down at a little table andorderedthe inevitable teathatSouthAfricadrinksatallhoursof 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. A wonderful 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'tfret,darling.Nothinghasbeenyourfault."

He lifted first one hand, then the other to his lips. Then she was alone,staringattheuntastedtea.And,strangelyenough,itwasonlyonethingthatshe saw - a gaudily illuminated text hanging on awhitewashedwall.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."

Hesawherhandstealtoherheart,hereyelidsflicker,thenshesaidinalow,quick voice that somehow frightened him: "I've heard nothing. Tell mequickly."

"Ithought-"

"Tellme!"

"Outatthattobaccoestate.Chapshothimself.Badlybrokenupinthewar,nervesalltopieces,Isuppose.There'snootherreasontoaccountforit."

"He shot himself in that dark shedwhere the tobaccowas hanging." Shespokewithcertainty,hereyeslikeasleepwalker'sasshesawbeforeher intheodorousdarknessafigurelyingthere,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.

"Mydeargirl, youmustn'tbenervy.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 shall

remember,andinthedarknessIshallnotforget."

Hereyeswidenedas they followed theascendingspiralof smoke,andsherepeatedinalow,monotonousvoice:"Everywhere,everywhere."

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