‘Ah! You may well ask. So Mr Cartell says, in a great taking-on, that the chaps doing the sewage in Green Lane must have taken it and my gentleman says they’re very decent chaps and he can’t believe it. “Very well, then,” says Mr C. very sharp and quite the lawyer, “perhaps Alfred would care to reconsider his statement.” And the way he said it was sufficient! After that suggestion, Mrs M., I don’t mind telling you it’s him or me. Both of us this residence will not accommodate.’

‘What did our gentleman say?’

‘Ah! What would you expect? Came out very quiet and firm on my behalf. “I think,” he said, “that Alfred has given us a perfectly clear picture and that there is no need to ask him to repeat it. Thank you, Alfred. I’m sorry to have troubled you.” So, of course, I said, “Thank you, sir,” with what I trust was the proper emphasis, and withdrew. But you can take it from me, there’s serious trouble and deep feeling in more than one direction. Something was said at luncheon that was very ill-received by our gentleman. Said by Mr C. Speculation,’ added Alfred, who had grown calmer and reverted to his normal habit of speech, ‘speculation is unprofitable. Events will clarify.’

‘Why Raikes, though?’ she pondered.

‘Ah! And I happened to ascertain from the chaps in the lane that Raikes brought Mr C. back in George Copper’s Bloodbath and George himself turned up in that Scorpion he’s got in his garage. And what’s more, the rural mail-van gave those two a lift back. They’ve been invited to the Big House party tonight. They’re dining and staying with Miss Cartell. They were very pleased with themselves, the mail-van driver said, but cagey in their manner.’

The kitchen door was ajar and Mr Cartell’s voice sounded clearly from the hall.

‘Very well,’ he was saying. ‘If that should prove to be the case I shall know how to act and I can assure you, P.P., that I shall act with the utmost vigour. I trust that you are satisfied.’

The front door slammed.

‘Mercy on us!’ Mrs Mitchell apostrophized. ‘Now, what?’ and added precipitantly: ‘My bedroom window!’

She bolted from the kitchen and Alfred heard her thundering up the back stairs.

Presently she returned, flushed and fully informed.

‘Across the green,’ she reported, ‘to Miss Cartell’s.’

‘And you may depend upon it, Mrs M.,’ Alfred said, ‘that the objective is Miss Moppett.’

III

Moppett had changed into the evening-dress she kept in her bedroom at Miss Cartell’s house. It was geranium red, very décolleté and flagrantly becoming to her. She lay back in her chair, admiring her arms and glancing up from under her eyebrows at Mr Cartell.