His political career was shaping well.

An under-secretaryship at the age of thirty

was something to be justly proud of. It

had been reported that the Prime Minister

had said to someone that "young Waring

would go far". Harold was, not unnaturally,

elated. Life presented itself to him in rosy

colours. He was young, sufficiently goodlooking,

in first-class condition, and quite

unencumbered with romantic ties.

He had decided to take a holiday in

Herzoslovakia so as to get right off the

206

beaten track and have a real rest from everyone

and everything. The hotel at Lake

Stempka, though small, was comfortable

and not overcrowded. The few people there

were mostly foreigners. So far the only

other English people were an elderly

woman, Mrs. Rice, and her married daughter,

Mrs. Clayton. Harold liked them both.

Elsie Clayton was pretty in a rather oldfashioned

style. S?he made up very little, if at all, and was gentle and rather shy. Mrs. Rice was what is called a woman of

character. She was tall, with a deep voice

and a masterful manner, but she had a

sense of humour and was good company.

Her life was clearly bound up in that of

her daughter.

Harold had spent some pleasant hours

in the company of mother and daughter, but they did not attempt to monopolise him and relations remained friendly and

unexacting between them.

The other people in the hotel had not

aroused Harold's notice. Usually they

were hikers, or members of a motorcoach

tour. They stayed a night or two and then

went on. He had hardly noticed any one

else --until this afternoon.

207

They came up the path from the lake

very slowly and it just happened that at

the moment when Harold's attention was

attracted to them, a cloud came over the

sun. He shivered a little.

Then he stared. Surely there was something

odd about these two women? They

had long, curved noses, like birds, and their

faces, which were curiously alike, were

quite immobile. Over their shoulders they

wore loose cloaks that flapped in the wind

like the wings of two big birds.

Harold thought to himself.

"They are like birds --M he added

almost without volition, "birds of ill omen."

The women came straight up on the

terrace and passed close by him. They

were not young --perhaps nearer fifty than

forty, and the resemblance between them

was so close that they were obviously

sisters. Their expression was forbidding.

As they passed Harold the eyes of both of

them rested on him for a minute. It was a

curious, appraising glance--almost inhuman.

Harold's impression of evil grew stronger.

He noticed the hand of one of the two

sisters, a long claw-like hand.... Although

208

the sun had come out, he shivered once

again. Rethought:

"Horrible creatures. Like birds of

prey. . . w

He was distracted from these imaginings

by the emergence of Mrs. Rice from the

hotel. He jumped up and drew forward a

chair. With a word of thanks she sat down