A Blunt Instrument

Chapter Two

By half-past eleven the police, with the exception of one constable, left behind to keep a watch over the house, had departed from Greystones. Miss Fletcher, gently interrogated by the Sergeant, had been unable to assist the course of justice. The news of the finding of the imprints of a woman's shoes did not seem either to shock or to surprise her. "He was such an attractive man," she confided to the Sergeant. "Of course, I don't mean - but one has to remember that Men are not like Us, doesn't one?"

The Sergeant had found himself listening to a panegyric on the late Ernest Fletcher: how charming he was; how popular; what perfect manners he had; how kind he had always been to his sister; how gay; how dashing; how generous! Out of this turmoil of words certain facts had emerged. Neville was the son of Ernie's brother Ted, many years deceased, and certainly his heir. Neville was a dear boy, but you never knew what he would be up to next, and - yes, it did annoy poor Ernie when he got himself imprisoned in some horrid Balkan state - oh, nothing serious, but Neville was so hopelessly vague, and simply lost his passport. As for the Russian woman who had appeared at Neville's hotel with all her luggage before breakfast one morning in Budapest, saying he had invited her at some party the night before - well, one couldn't exactly approve, of course, but young men did get drunk sometimes, and anyway the woman was obviously no better than she should be, and really Neville was not like that at all. At the same time, one did rather feel for Ernie, having to buy the creature off. But it was quite, quite untrue to say that Ernie didn't like Neville: they hadn't much in common, but blood was thicker than water, and Ernie was always so understanding.

Questioned more closely, no, she knew of no one who nourished the least grudge against her brother. She thought the murderer must have been one of these dreadful maniacs one read about in the papers.

The Sergeant got away from her, not without difficulty, and very soon left the house. Aunt and nephew confronted one another in the drawing-room.

"I feel as though this were all a horrible nightmare!" said Miss Fletcher, putting a hand to her head. "There's a policeman in the hall, and they've locked dear Ernie's study!"

"Does it worry you?" asked Neville. "Was there anything there you wished to destroy?"

"That," said Miss Fletcher, "would be most dishonest. Not but what I feel sure Ernie would have preferred it to having strangers poking their noses into his affairs. Of course I wouldn't destroy anything important, but I'm sure there isn't anything. Only you know what men are, dear, even the best of them."

"No, do tell me!"

"Well," said Miss Fletcher, "one shuts one's eyes to That Side of a Man's life, but I'm afraid, Neville, that there have been Women. And some of them, I think - though of course I don't know - not what I call Nice Women."

"Men are funny like that," said Neville dulcetly.

"Yes, dear, and naturally I was very thankful, because at one time I made sure Ernie would get caught."

"Caught?"

"Marriage," explained Miss Fletcher. "That would have been a great blow to me. Only, luckily, he wasn't a very constant man."

Neville looked at her in surprise. She smiled unhappily at him, apparently unaware of having said anything remarkable. She looked the acme of respectability; a plump, faded lady, with wispy grey hair and mild eyes, red-rimmed from crying, and a prim little mouth, innocent of lip-stick.

"I'm now definitely upset," said Neville. "I think I'll go to bed."

She said distressfully: "Oh dear, is it what I've told you? But it's bound to come out, so you had to know sooner or later."

"Not my uncle; my aunt!" said Neville.

"You do say such odd things, dear," she said. "You're overwrought, and no wonder. Ought I to offer that policeman some refreshment?"

He left her engaged in conversation with the officer on duty in the hall, and went up to his own room. After a short interval his aunt tapped on his door, desiring to know whether he felt all right. He called out to her that he was quite all right, but sleepy, and so after exchanging good-nights with him, and promising not to disturb him again, Miss Fletcher went away to her own bedroom in the front of the house.

Neville Fletcher, having locked his door, climbed out of his window, and reached the ground by means of a stout drain-pipe, and the roof of the verandah outside the drawing-room.

The garden lay bathed in moonlight. In case a watch had been set over the side entrance, Neville made his way instead to the wall at the end of the garden, which separated it from the Arden Road. Espaliers trained up it made the scaling of it a simple matter. Neville reached the top, lowered himself on the other side, and let himself drop. He landed with the ease of the trained athlete, paused to light a cigarette, and began to walk westwards along the road. A hundred yards brought him to a crossroad running parallel to Maple Grove. He turned up it, and entered the first gateway he came to. A big, square house was sharply outlined by the moonshine, lights shining through the curtains of several of the windows. One of these, on the ground-floor to the left of the front door, stood open. Neville went to it, parted the curtains, and looked into the room.

A woman sat at an escritoire, writing, the light of a reading-lamp touching her gold hair with fire. She wore evening dress, and a brocade cloak hung over the back of her chair. Neville regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, and then stepped into the room.

She looked up quickly, and gave a sobbing gasp of shock. The fright of her eyes gave place almost immediately to an expression of relief. Colour rushed into her lovely face; she caught her hand to her breast, saying faintly: 'Neville! Oh, how you startled me!"

"That's nothing to what I've been through tonight," replied Neville. "Such fun and games at Greystones, my dear: you wouldn't believe!"

She shut her blotter upon her half-finished letter. "You haven't got them?" she asked, between eagerness and incredulity.

"All I've got is the jitters," said Neville. He strolled over to her, and to her surprise went down on his knee.

"Neville, what on earth - ?"

His hand clasped her ankle. "Let's have a look at your foot, my sweet." He pulled it up and studied her silver kid shoe. "O my prophetic soul! Now we are in a mess, aren't we? Just like your pretty little slippers." He let her go, and stood up.

Swift alarm dilated her eyes. She glanced down at her shoes, and twitched the folds of her frock over them. "What do you mean?"

"Can it, precious. You called on Ernie tonight, and hid behind a bush outside the study window."

"How did you know?" she asked quickly.

"Intuition. You might have left it to me. What was the use of dragging me into it if you were going to muscle in? God knows I was unwilling enough."

"That's just it. I didn't think you'd be any good. You're so unreliable, and I knew you hated doing it."

"Oh, I did, and I am, and I wasn't any good, but all the same it was damned silly of you not to give me a run for my money. Did you get them, by the way?"

"No. He only - laughed, and - oh, you know!"

"Well isn't that nice!" said Neville. "Did you happen to knock him on the head?"

"Oh, don't be silly!" she said impatiently.

"If that's acting, it's good," said Neville, looking at her critically. "Did you see who did?"

She was frowning. "Did I see who did what?"

"Knocked Ernie on the head. My pretty ninny, Ernie's been murdered."

A sound between a scream and a whimper broke from her. "Neville! Oh no! Nerrille, you don't mean that!"

He looked at her with a smile lilting on his mouth. "Didn't you know?"

Her eyes searched his, while the colour receded slowly from her face. "I didn't do it!" she gasped.

"I shouldn't think you'd have the strength," he agreed.

They were interrupted by the opening of the door. A slim young woman with a cluster of brown curls, a monocle screwed into her left eye, entered the room, saying calmly: "Did you call, Helen?" Her gaze alighted on Neville; she said with every appearance of disgust: "Oh, you're here, are you?"

"Yes, but I wouldn't have been if I'd known you were, hell-cat," responded Neville sweetly.

Miss Drew gave a contemptuous snort, and looked critically at her sister. "You look absolutely gangrenous," she remarked. "Anything the matter?"

Helen North's hands twisted nervously together. "Ernie Fletcher's been murdered."

"Good!" said Miss Drew, unperturbed. "Neville come to tell you?"

Helen shuddered. "Oh don't! It's awful, awful!"

"Personally," said Miss Drew, taking a cigarette from the box on the table, and fitting it into a long holder, "I regard it as definitely memorable. I hate men with super polished manners, and charming smiles. Who killed him?"

"I don't know! You can't think I know!" Helen cried. "Sally! - Neville! - oh, my God!" She looked wildly from one to the other, and sank down on to a sofa, burying her face in her hands.

"If it's an act, it's a good one," said Neville. "If not, it's mere waste of time. Do stop it, Helen! you're making me feel embarrassed."

Sally regarded him with disfavour. "You don't seem to be much upset," she said.

"You didn't see me an hour ago," replied Neville. "I even lost my poise."

She sniffed, but merely said: "You'd better tell me all about it. It might be good copy."

"What a lovely thought!" said Neville. "Ernie has not died in vain."

"I've always wanted to be in on a real murder," remarked Sally thoughtfully. "How was he killed?"

"He had his head smashed," replied Neville.

Helen gave a moan, but her sister nodded with all the air of a connoisseur. "A blow from a blunt instrument," she said. "Any idea who did it?"

"No, but Helen may have."

Helen lifted her head. "I tell you I wasn't there!"

"Your shoes belie you, sweet."

"Yes, yes, but not when he was killed! I wasn't, I tell you, I wasn't!"

The monocle dropped out of Miss Drew's eye. She screwed it in again, bending a searching gaze upon her sister. "What do you mean - "yes, but not when he was killed"? Have you been round to Greystones tonight?"

Helen seemed uncertain how to answer, but after a moment she said: "Yes. Yes, I did go round to see Ernie.

I - I got sick of the noise of your typewriter, for one thing, and, for another, I - I wanted particularly to see him." "Look here!" said Sally, "you may as well spill it now as later! - what is there between you and Ernie F'letcher?"

"As a purist," said Neville, "I must take exception to your use of the present tense."

She rounded on him. "I suppose you're in on it, whatever it is? Then you'll dam' well tell me."

"It isn't what you think!" Helen said quickly. "Truly, it isn't, Sally! Oh, I admit I liked him, but not - not enough for that!"

"If you can tell Neville the truth you can tell it to me," said Sally. "And don't pull any stuff about going to see him because of my typewriter, because it won't wash."

"Tell her," advised Neville. "She likes sordid stories."

Helen flushed. "Need you call it that?"

He sighed. "Dear pet, I told you at the outset that I considered it too utterly trite and sordid to appeal to me. Why bring that up now?"

"You don't know what it is to be desperate," she said bitterly.

"No, that's my divine detachment."

"Well, I hope you get pinched for the murder," struck in Sally. "Then what price divine detachment?"

He looked pensive. "It would be awfully interesting," he agreed. "Of course, I should preserve an outward calm, but should I quail beneath it? I hope not: if I did I shouldn't know myself any more, and that would be most uncomfortable."

Helen struck the arm of the sofa with her clenched hand. "Talk, talk, talk! What's the use of it?"

"There is nothing more sordid than the cult of utility," replied Neville. "You have a pedestrian mind, my dear."

"Oh, do shut up!" begged Sally. She went to the sofa, and sat down beside Helen. "Come on, old thing, you'd much better tell me the whole story! If you're in a jam, I'll try and get you out of it."

"You can't," Helen said wretchedly. "Ernie's got IOUs of mine, and the police are bound to discover them, and there'll be a ghastly scandal."

Sally frowned. "IOUs? Why? I mean, how did he get them? What are they for, anyway?"

"Gambling debts. Neville thinks he probably bought them."

"What on earth for?" demanded Sally, the monocle slipping out again.

Neville looked at her admiringly. "The girl has a mind like a pure white lily!" he remarked. "I am now taken aback."

Sally retorted hotly: "I haven't got any such thing! But all this price-of-dishonour business is too utterly vieux jeu! Good Lord, I wouldn't put it in any book of mine!"

"Are you an escapist?" inquired Neville solicitously. "Is that why you write improbable novels? Have you felt the banality of real life to be intolerable?"

"My novels aren't improbable! It may interest you to know that the critics consider me as one of the six most important crime novelists."

"If you think that you're a bad judge of character," said Neville.

Helen gave a strangled shriek of exasperation. "Oh, don't, don't! What does any of that matter at a time like this? What am I to do?"

Sally turned away from Neville. "All right, let's get this thing straight," she said. "I don't feel I've got all the data. When did you start falling for Ernie Fletcher?"

"I didn't. Only he was so attractive, and - and he had a sort of sympathetic understanding. Almost a touch of the feminine, but not quite that, either. I can't explain. Ernie made you feel as though you were made of very brittle, precious porcelain."

"That must have added excitement to your life," said Neville reflectively.

"Shut up! Go on, Helen! When did it all begin?"

"Oh, I don't know! I suppose from the moment I first got to know him - to know him properly, I mean. You mustn't think that he - that he made love to me, because he didn't. It wasn't till just lately that I realised what he wanted. I thought - oh, I don't know what I thought!"

"You didn't think anything," explained Neville kindly. "You floated away on a sea of golden syrup."

"That's probably true," said Sally. "You were obviously right under the ether. What did John think, if anything?"

Her sister coloured, and averted her face. "I don't know. John and I - had drifted apart - before Ernie came into my life."

Neville, apparently overcome, sank into a chair, and covered his face with his hands. "Oh God, Oh God!" he moaned. "I'm being dragged into this repulsive syrup! Dearest, let us drift apart - me out of your life, before I start mouthing cliches too. I know it's insidious."

"I must say," remarked Sally, fair-mindedly, "that I rather bar "drifted apart" and "came into my life" myself Helen, do try not to sentimentalise yourself; it all looks too darned serious to me. I thought you and John weren't hitting it off any too well. Some women don't know when they've struck ore. What went wrong between you? I should have thought John was the answer to any maiden's prayer."

"Oh, it's so hard to explain!" Helen said, her eyes brimming with tears. "I was so young when I married trim, and I thought everything was going to be like my dreams. I'm not excusing myself: I know John's a fine man, but he didn't understand me, and he didn't want what I wanted - life, gaiety and excitement!"

"Didn't you love him?" asked Sally bluntly.

"I thought I did. Only everything went wrong. If only ,John had been different - but you know what he's like! If he'd shaken me, or even beaten me, I'd have pulled myself up. But he didn't. He simply retired into his shell. He was busy, too, and I was bored. I started going about without him. Sally, I tell you I don't know how it began, or how we got to this pitch, but we're utterly, utterly estranged!" The tears were running down her cheeks. She said with a catch in her voice: "I'd give anything to have it all back again, but I can't, and there's a gulf between us which I can't bridge! Now this has happened, and I suppose that'll end it. I shall have dragged John's name in the mud, and the least I can do is to let him divorce me."

"Don't be such an ass!" said Sally bracingly. John's much too decent to let you down when you're in trouble. You don't divorce people for getting into debt, and if your IOUs are found in Ernie Fletcher's possession it'll be obvious that you weren't a faithless wife."

"If they're found, and it all comes out, I'll kill myself!"

Helen said. "I couldn't face it. I could not face it! John doesn't know a thing about my gambling. It's the one thing that he detests above all others. Neville's a beast, but he's perfectly right when he says it's a sordid story. It wasn't Bridge, or the sort of gambling you have at parties, but a - a real hell!"

"Lummy!" said Miss Drew elegantly. "Gilded vice, and haggard harpies, and suicides adjacent? All that sort of thing?"

"It wasn't gilded, and I don't know about any suicides, but it was a bad place, and yet - in a way - rather thrilling. If John knew of it - the people who belonged to it - Sally, no one would believe I wasn't a bad woman if it was known I went to that place!"

"Well, why did you go there?"

"Oh, for the thrill! Like one goes to Limehouse. And at first it sort ofgot me. I adored the excitement of the play. Then I lost rather a lot of money, and like a fool I thought I could win it back. I expect you know how one gets led on, and on."

"Why not have sold your pearls?"

A wan smile touched Helen's lips. "Because they aren't worth anything."

"What?" Sally gasped.

"Copies," said Helen bitterly. "I sold the real ones ages ago. Other things, too. I've always been an extravagant little beast, and John warned me he wouldn't put up with it. So I sold things."

"Helen!"

Neville, who had been reposing in a luxurious chair with his eyes shut, said sleepily: "You said you wanted copy, didn't you?"

"Even if it didn't concern Helen I couldn't use this," said Sally. "Not my line of country at all. I shall have to concentrate on the murder. By the way, Helen, who introduced you to this hell? Dear Ernie?"

"Oh no, no!" Helen cried. "He absolutely rescued me from it! I can't tell you how divine he was. He said everything would be all right, and I wasn't to worry any more, but just be a good child for the future."

"Snake!" said Sally hotly.

"Yes, only - it didn't seem like that. He had such a way with him! He got hold of those ghastly IOUs, and at first I was so thankful!"

"Then he blackmailed you!"

"N - no, he didn't. Not quite. I can't tell you about that, but it wasn't exactly as you imagine. Of course, he did use the IOUs as a weapon, but perhaps he didn't really mean it! It was all done so - so laughingly, and he was very much in love with me. I expect I lost my head a bit, didn't handle him properly. But I got frightened, and I couldn't sleep for thinking of my IOUs in Ernie's possession. That's why I told Neville. I thought he might be able to do something."

"Neville?" said Miss Drew, in accents of withering contempt. "You might as well have applied to a village idiot!"

"I know, but there wasn't anyone else. And he is clever, in spite of being so hopeless."

"As judged by village standards?" inquired Neville, mildly interested.

"He may have a kind of brain, but I've yet to hear of him putting himself out for anyone, or behaving like an ordinarily nice person. I can't think how you ever succeeded in persuading him to take it on."

"The dripping of water on a stone," murmured Neville.

"Well having taken it on, I do think you might have put your back into it. Did you even try?"

"Yes, it was a most painful scene."

"Why? Was Ernie furious?"

"Not so much furious as astonished. So was I. You ought to have seen me giving my impersonation of a Nordic public-school man with a reverence for good form and the done-thing. I wouldn't like to swear I didn't beg him to play the game. Ernie ended up by being nauseated, and I'm sure I'm not surprised."

"You know, you're not hard-hearted, you're just soulless," Sally informed him. She glanced at her sister. "Was I invited to stay to be a chaperon?"

"Yes, in a way. Besides, I wanted you."

"Thanks a lot. What happened tonight?"

"Oh, nothing, Sally, nothing! It was silly of me, but I thought if only I could talk quietly to Ernie, and - and throw myself on his generosity, everything would be all right. You were busy with your book, so I got my cloak, and just slipped round by the back way to Greystones, on the off chance of finding Ernie in his study."

"It looks to me as though it wasn't the first time you've called on Ernie like that," interpolated Sally shrewdly.

Helen coloured. "Well, no, I - I have been once or twice before, but not after I realised he had fallen in love with me. Honestly, I used to look on him as an exciting sort of uncle."

"More fool you. Carry on! When did you set out on this silly expedition?"

"At half-past nine, when I knew you'd had time to get absorbed in your silly book," retorted Helen, with a flash of spirit. "And I knew that Ernie was in his study, because when I turned up into Maple Grove from the Arden Road, I saw a man come out of the Greystones side gate, and walk off towards Vale Avenue."

"Abraham," said Neville. "Well, that settles him, at all events. Pity: the name had possibilities."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I let myself into the garden, and walked up the path to Ernie's study. Ernie was there, but I soon saw I'd made a mistake to come. He was - almost horrid - as horrid as a person with charm like his could be."

"That's what comes of getting me to become a pukka sahib," said Neville. "You can't blame Ernie."

"How long did you stay with him?" demanded Sally. "Think! it's probably important."

"I don't have to think: I know," said Helen. "Ernie said something about my being found with him at a compromising hour, and I looked at the clock, and said if he thought a quarter to ten a compromising hour he must be actually a Victorian, though I'd thought him merely Edwardian."

"Good!" approved Sally.

"Yes, I was in a rage," admitted Helen. "And I walked straight out, the way I'd come."

"Straight home?"

Helen hesitated, her eyes on Neville, who was regarding her with an expression of sleepy enjoyment. "No," she said, after a pause. "Not quite. I heard the gate open, and naturally I didn't want to be seen, so I dived behind a bush beside the house."

"Who was it?" asked Sally quickly.

"I don't know. I couldn't see. A man, that's all I can tell you."

Sally looked at her rather searchingly, and then said: "All right, go on!"

"He went into the study. I think he closed the window behind him; I didn't hear anything except a sort of murmur of voices."

"Oh! Did you beat it while you had the chance?" Helen nodded. "Yes, of course." "And no one but Ernie saw you?" "No."

"And you didn't go dropping handkerchiefs about, or anything like that?"

"Of course I didn't."

"Then there's nothing except the IOUs to connect you with the murder!" Sally declared. "We've got to get hold of them before the police do."

Helen said: "Oh, Sally, if only I could! But how? They aren't in his desk -'

"How do you know?" asked Sally swiftly.

"Why, I - something Ernie said," faltered Helen.

"I shouldn't set much store by anything he said. Of course, they may be in a safe, but we'll hope he didn't go in for safes. Neville, this is your job."

Neville opened his eyes. Having surveyed both sisters in his peculiarly dreamy way, he dragged himself out of his chair, and wandered over to the table where the cigarette-box stood. He selected and lit one, produced his own empty case, and proceeded to fill it. "All this excitement," he said softly, "has gone to your head."

"Oh no, it hasn't! You're staying in the house; you said you'd help Helen. You can jolly well find those IOUs before Scotland Yard gets on to the case."

"Scotland Yard!" gasped Helen.

"Yes, I should think almost certainly," replied Sally. "This is the Metropolitan area, you know. They'll probably send a man down to investigate. Neville, are you willing to take a chance?"

"No, darling," he replied, fitting the last cigarette into his case.

"You would fast enough if they were your IOUs!"

He looked up. "I daresay I should. But they aren't mine. I won't have anything to do with them."

"If you had a grain of decency, or - or chivalry -'

"Do stop trying to cast me for this beastly Gunga Din role!" he implored. "Find someone else for the job! You must know lots of whiter men than I am."

"Very well!" said Sally. "If you haven't the guts to do it, I have, and I will!"

"I don't want to blight your youthful ardour, sweet one, but I think I ought to tell you that there's a large, resolute policeman parked in the front hall."

Her face fell. "I never thought of that," she said slowly. An idea occurred to her. "Do you mean he's keeping a watch over the household?"

"Well, he's certainly not a paying-guest."

She started up. "You utter, abysmal idiot, what did you come here for if the house was being watched?"

"To get some cigarettes. We've run out."

"Oh, don't be a fool! Don't you realise you'll have led them straight to Helen?"

"Oh no! No, really I haven't," Neville replied, with his apologetic smile. "I climbed out of my window, and over the wall."

"You - Did you really?" exclaimed Sally, her thunderous frown vanishing. "I must say I should never have thought it of you."

"Atavism," he explained.

"Oh, Neville, how on earth did you manage it?" Helen asked, a note of admiration in her voice.

He looked alarmed. "Please don't get misled! It wasn't a bit heroic, or daring, or even difficult."

"It must have been. I can't think how you did it! I should never have had the nerve."

"No nerve. Merely one of the advantages of a University education."

"Well, I think it was fairly sporting of you," said Sally. "Only it doesn't help us to solve the problem of how to get those IOUs."

"Don't strain yourself," Neville recommended. "You can't get them. They're probably in Ernie's safe, just like you suggested."

"There are ways of opening safes," said Sally darkly, cupping her chin in her hands. "I suppose you don't happen to know the combination?"

"You're right for the first time tonight. God, how I hate women!"

"Sally, you don't really know how to open safes, do you?" asked Helen, forgetting her troubles in surprise.

"No, not offhand. I should have to look it up. Of course, I know about soup."

"What sort of soup?" inquired Neville. "If we're going to talk gastronomy I can be quite intelligent, though seldom inspired."

"Ass. Not that kind of soup. The stuff you blow open safes with. I forget exactly what it's made of, but it's an explosive of sorts."

"Is it really?" said Neville. "What lovely fun! Won't it go big with the policeman in the hall?"

"I wasn't thinking of using it, even if I knew how to make it, which I don't."

"That must be your weak woman's nature breaking through the crust, darling. Get the better of it, and don't stop at the safe. Blow the whole house up, thus eliminating the policeman."

"Have a good laugh," said Sally. "After all, you aren't in this jam, are you?" She got up, and began to stride about the room. "Well, let's face it! We can't open the safe, and we don't know how to get by the policeman. In fact, we're futile. But if I created this situation in a book I could think of something for the book-me to do. Why the devil can't I think of something now?"

Neville betrayed a faint interest. "If we were in one of your books, we should all of us have much more nerve than we really have, to start with."

"Not necessarily."

"Oh yes! You always draw your characters rather more than life-size. We should have more brains, too. You, for instance, would know how to make your soup -"

"Any where to buy the - the ingredients, which actually one just doesn't know," she interpolated.

"Exactly. Helen would go and scream blue murder outside the house, to draw the policeman off while you blew up the safe, and I should put up a great act to regale him with on his return, telling him I thought I heard someone in the study, and leading him there when you'd beaten it with the incriminating documents. And can you see any one of us doing any of it?"

"No, I can't. It's lousy, anyway. It would be brought home to us because of Helen's being an obvious decoy."

"Helen would never be seen. She'd have merged into the night by the time the policeman got there."

"Let's discuss possibilities!" begged Helen.

"I'll go further, and discuss inevitabilities. We shall all of us sit tight, and let the police do the worrying. Ernie's dead, and there isn't a thing we can do, except preserve our poise. In fact, we are quite definitely in the hands of Fate. Fascinating situation!"

"A dangerous situation!" Sally said.

"Of course. Have you never felt the fascination of fear? Helen has, in that gambling-hell of hers."

"Not now!" Helen said. "This is too awful. I only feel sick, and - and desperate!"

"Take some bicarbonate," he advised. "Meanwhile, I'm going home to bed. Oh, did I say thank you for the cigarettes? By the way, where is John supposed to be?"

"In Berlin," replied Helen listlessly.

"Well, he isn't," said Neville. "I saw him in London today."

She came to her feet in one swift movement, paperwhite, staring at him. "You couldn't have! I know he's in Berlin!"

"Yes, I saw him," murmured Neville.

He was by the window, a hand on the curtain. Helen moved quickly to detain him. "You thought you saw him! Do you imagine I don't know where my own husband is?"

"Oh, no!" Neville said gently. "I didn't say that, precious."