LIVINGSTON FINISHED HIS fourth cup of tea. It was 4:30 A.M. in Oxford. “Now, Philip,” he said kindly, “how do you suppose Miss Atwater got poisoned? Do you really think your aunt is capable of deliberately making anyone sick? Never mind risking an overdose!”

“N-no. No.” Philip was slumped in his chair. His fingertips were raw. “If only I hadn’t gone looking for that mulch.”

“Now that you know Miss Twyler has not been honest with you, do you think your wedding plans will change?”

Philip nodded, his eyes hollow. “Quite a shock. I suppose it won’t be possible to keep my finding of the body confidential.”

Livingston shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“I h-h-hope the headmaster will understand my predicament.” Philip looked directly at Livingston. “No, I’m not going to marry Val.”

“Isn’t it true that what she basically did was blackmail you into an engagement and marriage?”

“She’d stop by the house ... she could be very helpful. But I never, ever planned to marry her.”

“Did you ever get the impression that if you did not marry her she might inadvertently let slip your little secret?”

“Well, if-if-if it ever slipped out, in-in-inadvertently, as she put it, she reminded me that a w-w-wife cannot be made to testify against her hu-hu-husband.”

Livingston left him. In the hallway he growled to his assistant, “He’s got all the worldliness of a two-year-old. The lady holds the answers here.”

The assistant looked worried. “Sir, they’re not charged and they are exhausted.”

“And a young girl is dead, an elderly woman has been poisoned, and three children were left motherless. All when Valerie Twyler or Mary V. Cook was on the scene.”

Chapter 62

AT SEA

AT 2 A.M. THE band played “After the Ball Is Over” and packed up their instruments. Gavin and Sylvie were sitting at the lounge bar.

“Some ball,” Gavin muttered.

Sylvie looked at her old friend compassionately. “You look down in the dumps. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing that a million bucks wouldn’t cure.” Gavin sipped his fourth vodka Collins. “You look pretty happy.”

Sylvie hesitated, shrugged, leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Milton asked me to meet him at his home in Aspen next week, after he drops Violet off in Miami. He can’t drop her hard enough for my money.”

“Do you think this is the one—I mean the one you can land?”

“Don’t be mean. I really think he’s terrific.”

“Don’t sign any prenuptials.”

At 2:15 A.M. Hardwick was ready. He had stopped at the casino, had a drink in the King’s Lounge, then said a friendly good night to the bartender. His bags were in the hall.