And then she thought that if, as seemed probable, the paragraph had in fact not been noticed, it might be as well to get rid of the paper, the more especially since she would like to repress her own photograph before it went into general circulation. She could imagine Miss Rickerby-Carrick’s ejaculations: ‘And there you both are, you and the murdered man who was to have your berth. Fancy!’ She hunted out her sketchbook and returned to the saloon.

The newspaper was nowhere to be seen.

III

Troy waited for a minute or two in the saloon to collect her thoughts. Her fellow-passengers were still at tea and apparently quite undisturbed. She went up on deck. The Skipper was at the wheel.

‘Everything all right, Mrs Alleyn?’ he asked.

‘Yes, thank you. Yes. Everything,’ said Troy and found herself a chair.

Most of the detergent foam had been left behind by now. The Zodiac sailed towards evening through clear waters, low fields and occasional groups of trees.

Troy began to draw the Signs of the Zodiac, placing them in a ring and giving them a wonderfully strange character. Mrs Tretheway’s rhyme could go in the middle and later on there would be washes of colour.

She was vaguely aware of a sudden burst of conversation in the saloon. After a time a shadow fell across her hand and there was Caley Bard again. Troy didn’t look up. He moved to the opposite side and stood with his back towards her, leaning on the taffrail.

‘I’m afraid,’ he said presently, ‘that they’ve rumbled you. Lazenby spotted the photograph in this morning’s paper. I wouldn’t have told them.’

‘I believe you.’

‘The Rickerby-Carrick is stimulated, I fear.’

‘Hell.’

‘And the Hewsons are gratified because they’ve read an article about you in Life Magazine so they know you’re OK and famous. They just can’t think how they missed recognizing you.’

‘Too bad.’

‘Pollock, surprisingly, seemed to be not unaware of your great distinction. Lazenby himself says you are regarded in Australia as being the equal of Drysdale and Dobell.’

‘Nice of him.’

‘There’s this about it; you’ll be able to do what you are doing now, without everybody exclaiming and breathing down your neck. Or I hope you will.’

‘I won’t be doing anything that matters,’ Troy mumbled.

‘How extraordinary!’ he said lightly.

‘What?’

‘That you should be so shy about your work. You!’

‘Well, I can’t help it. Do pipe down like a good chap.’

She heard him chuckle and drag a deck chair into position. Presently she smelt his pipe. ‘Evidently,’ she thought, ‘they haven’t spotted the Andropulos bit in the paper.’ She considered this for a moment and then added: ‘Or have they?’