‘She’s going away again,’ said Mr Satterthwaite to himself. ‘She’s going away with him. They’re walking away together. They belong to the same world, of course. They only come–those sort of people–they only come when it’s a case of love or death or both.’

He wouldn’t see Lily again, he supposed, but he wondered how soon he would meet Mr Quin again. He turned then and went back across the lawn towards the tea table and the Harlequin tea set, and beyond that, to his old friend Tom Addison. Beryl wouldn’t come back. He was sure of it. Doverton Kingsbourne was safe again.

Across the lawn came the small black dog in flying leaps. It came to Mr Satterthwaite, panting a little and wagging its tail. Through its collar was twisted a scrap of paper. Mr Satterthwaite stooped and detached it–smoothing it out–on it in coloured letters was written a message:

CONGRATULATIONS! TO OUR NEXT MEETING

H.Q.

‘Thank you, Hermes,’ said Mr Satterthwaite, and watched the black dog flying across the meadow to rejoin the two figures that he himself knew were there but could no longer see.

The Regatta Mystery

The Regatta Mystery

I

Mr Isaac Pointz removed a cigar from his lips and said approvingly:

‘Pretty little place.’

Having thus set the seal of his approval upon Dartmouth harbour, he replaced the cigar and looked about him with the air of a man pleased with himself, his appearance, his surroundings and life generally.

As regards the first of these, Mr Isaac Pointz was a man of fifty-eight, in good health and condition with perhaps a slight tendency to liver. He was not exactly stout, but comfortable-looking, and a yachting costume, which he wore at the moment, is not the most kindly of attires for a middle-aged man with a tendency to embonpoint. Mr Pointz was very well turned out–correct to every crease and button–his dark and slightly Oriental face beaming out under the peak of his yachting cap. As regards his surroundings, these may have been taken to mean his companions–his partner Mr Leo Stein, Sir George and Lady Marroway, an American business acquaintance Mr Samuel Leathern and his schoolgirl daughter Eve, Mrs Rustington and Evan Llewellyn.

The party had just come ashore from Mr Pointz’ yacht–the Merrimaid. In the morning they had watched the yacht racing and they had now come ashore to join for a while in the fun of the fair–Coconut shies, Fat Ladies, the Human Spider and the Merry-go-round. It is hardly to be doubted that these delights were relished most by Eve Leathern. When Mr Pointz finally suggested that it was time to adjourn to the Royal George for dinner hers was the only dissentient voice.

‘Oh, Mr Pointz–I did so want to have my fortune told by the Real Gypsy in the Caravan.’