“Mrs. Lucas,” said Edmund, “is all over Phillipa now that since Belle Goedler’s death Phillipa and Julia have inherited the Goedler millions. She sent us some silver asparagus tongs as a wedding present. I shall have enormous pleasure in not asking her to the wedding!”

“And so they lived happily ever after,” said Patrick. “Edmund and Phillipa—and Julia and Patrick?” he added tentatively.

“Not with me, you won’t live happily ever after,” said Julia. “The remarks that Inspector Craddock improvised to address to Edmund apply far more aptly to you. You are the sort of soft young man who would like a rich wife. Nothing doing!”

“There’s gratitude for you,” said Patrick. “After all I did for that girl.”

“Nearly landed me in prison on a murder charge—that’s what your forgetfulness nearly did for me,” said Julia. “I shall never forget that evening when your sister’s letter came. I really thought I was for it. I couldn’t see any way out.”

“As it is,” she added musingly, “I think I shall go on the stage.”

“What? You, too?” groaned Patrick.

“Yes. I might go to Perth. See if I can get your Julia’s place in the Rep there. Then, when I’ve learnt my job, I shall go into theatre management—and put on Edmund’s plays, perhaps.”

“I thought you wrote novels,” said Julian Harmon.

“Well, so did I,” said Edmund. “I began writing a novel. Rather good it was. Pages about an unshaven man getting out of bed and what he smelt like, and the grey streets, and a horrible old woman with dropsy and a vicious young tart who dribbled down her chin—and they all talked interminably about the state of the world and wondered what they were alive for. And suddenly I began to wonder too … And then a rather comic idea occurred to me … and I jotted it down—and then I worked up rather a good little scene … All very obvious stuff. But somehow, I got interested … And before I knew what I was doing I’d finished a roaring farce in three acts.”

“What’s it called?” asked Patrick. “What the Butler Saw?”

“Well, it easily might be … As a matter of I’ve called it Elephants Do Forget. What’s more, it’s been accepted and it’s going to be produced!”

“Elephants Do Forget,” murmured Bunch. “I thought they didn’t?”

The Rev. Julian Harmon gave a guilty start.

“My goodness. I’ve been so interested. My sermon!”

“Detective stories again,” said Bunch. “Real-life ones this time.”

“You might preach on Thou Shall Do No Murder,” suggested Patrick.

“No,” said Julian Harmon quietly. “I shan’t take that as my text.”