daughter after dinner. Elsie Clayton was

wearing a soft dull pink dress. Her eyelids,

he noticed, were red. She had been crying.

Airs. Rice said briskly:

"I've found out who your two harpies

are, Mr. Waring. Polish ladies — of very

good family, so the concierge says."

Harold looked across the room to where

the Polish ladies were sitting. Elsie said

with interest:

"Those two women over there? With

the henna-dyed hair? They look rather

horrible somehow — I don't know why."

Harold said triumphantly:

"That's just what I thought."

Mrs. Rice said with a laugh:

"I think you are both being absurd. You

212

can't possibly tell what people are like just

by looking at them."

Elsie laughed.

She said:

"I suppose one can't. All the same /

think they're vultures!5'

'Ticking out dead men's eyes!35 said

Harold.

"Oh, don't," cried Elsie.

Harold said quickly:

"Sorry."

Mrs. Rice said with a smile:

"Anyway they're not likely to cross our path."

Elsie said:

"We haven't got any guilty secrets!"

"Perhaps Air. Waring has," said Mrs.

Rice with a twinkle.

Harold laughed, throwing his head back.

He said:

"Not a secret in the world. My life's an

open book."

And it flashed across his mind :

"What fools people are who leave the

straight path. A clear conscience --that's

all one needs in life. With that you can

face the world and tell everyone who interferes

with you to go to the devil!"

213

He felt suddenly very much alive-very strong--very much master of his fate!

Ill

Harold Waring, like many other Englishmen,

was a bad linguist. His French was

halting and decidedly British in intonation.

Of German and Italian he knew nothing.

Up to now, these linguistic disabilities

had not worried him. In most hotels on

the Continent, he had always found, everyone

spoke English, so why worry ?

But in this out-of-the-way spot, where

the native language was a form of Slovak

and even the concierge only spoke German

it was sometimes galling to Harold when

one of his two women friends acted as

interpreter for him. Mrs. Rice, who was

fond of languages, could even speak a

little Slovak.

Harold determined that he would set

about learning German. He decided to

buy some text books and spend a couple

of hours each morning in mastering the

language.

The morning was fine and after writing

some letters, Harold looked at his watch

214

FR1;and saw there was still time for an hour's

stroll before lunch. He went down towards

the lake and then turned aside into the

pine woods. He had walked there for perhaps

five minutes when he heard an unmistakable

sound. Somewhere not far

away a woman was sobbing her heart out.

Harold paused a minute, then he went

in the direction of the sound. The woman

was Elsie Clayton and was she sitting on

a fallen tree with her face buried in her

hands and her shoulders quivering with

the violence of her grief.

Harold hesitated a minute, then he came