A faint sigh of relief sounded above Alleyn's head. He could have echoed it with heartfelt enthusiasm when the bed rustled again and the weight on his shoulders was lifted. Next came the sound of chair legs, dragging a little on the carpet, and coming down finally across the room. The wardrobe door creaked. A pause, followed by furtive scrabblings. Then a metallic click. Alleyn cleared his throat.

"You'll simply have to turn up the light, Miss Vaughan," he said.

She didn't scream, but he knew how near she came to it by the desperate little gasp she gave. Then she whispered bravely:

"Who is it?"

"The Law," said Alleyn grandly.

"You!"

"Yes. Do turn the light on. There's no reason at all why you shouldn't. The switch is just inside the door." He sneezed violently. "Bless you, Mr. Alleyn," he said piously.

The room was flooded with pink light. Alleyn had thrust his head and shoulders out from the end of the bed.

She stood with one hand still on the switch. In the other she carried the little iron-bound box. Her eyes were dilated like those of a terrified child. She looked fantastically beautiful.

Alleyn wriggled out and stood up.

"I think bed dust is quite the beastliest kind of dust there is," he complained.

Her fingers slid away from the door handle. Her figure slackened. As she pitched forward he caught her. The box fell with a clatter to the floor.

"No, no," he said. "This won't do. You're not a woman who faints when she meets a reverse. You, with your iron nerve. You haven't fainted. Your heart beats steadily."

"Yours, on the contrary," she whispered, "is hammering violently."

He put her on her feet and held her elbows.

"Sit down," he said curtly.

She pulled herself away, and sat in the arm-chair he lugged forward.

"All the same," said Miss Vaughan, "you did give me a fright." She looked at him very steadily. "What a fool I've been. Such an obvious trap."

"I was surprised that it caught you. When I saw you in the taxi, I knew I had succeeded, and then a little later, when you rang—I thought Surbonadier would have given you a latch-key."

"I had meant to return it."

"Really? I must say, I can't think where the attraction lay. Evidently you are a bad selector."

"Not always."

"Perhaps not always."

"After all, you have nothing against me. Why shouldn't I come here? You yourself suggested it."

"At nine, with me. What were you looking for in that box?"

"My letters," she said quickly. "I wanted to destroy them."

"They are not there."

"Then like Ophelia I was the more deceived."

"You weren't deceived," he said bitterly.

"Mr. Alleyn—give me my letters. If I give you my word, my solemn word, that they had nothing whatever to do with his death—"

"I've read them."

She turned very white.

"All of them?"

"Yes. Even yesterday's note."