With which enigmatic pronouncement Beatrice left Lily and went up the stairs.

Inside room No. 5, David Hunter paused inside the door and looked at the man who had signed himself Enoch Arden.

Fortyish, knocked about a bit, a suggestion of having come down in the world - on the whole a difficult customer. Such was David's summing up. Apart from that, not easy to fathom. A dark horse.

Arden said:

"Hallo - you Hunter? Good. Sit down. What'll you have? Whisky?"

He'd made himself comfortable, David noted that. A modest array of bottles - a fire burning in the grate on this chilly Spring evening. Clothes not English cut, but worn as an Englishman wears clothes.

The man was the right age, too...

"Thanks," David said, "I'll have a spot of whisky."

"Say When."

"When. Not too much soda."

They were a little like dogs, maneuvering for position - circling round each other, backs stiff, hackles up, ready to be friendly or ready to snarl and snap.

"Cheerio," said Arden.

"Cheerio."

They set their glasses down, relaxed a little. Round One was over.

The man who called himself Enoch Arden said:

"You were surprised to get my letter?"

"Frankly," said David, "I don't understand it at all."

"N-no - n-no - well, perhaps not."

David said:

"I understand you knew my sister's first husband - Robert Underhay."

"Yes, I knew Robert very well." Arden was smiling, blowing clouds of smoke idly up in the air. "As well, perhaps, as any one could know him. You never met him, did you. Hunter?"

"No."

"Oh, perhaps that's as well."

"What do you mean by that?" David asked sharply.

Arden said easily:

"My dear fellow, it makes everything much simpler - that's all. I apologise for asking you to come here, but I did think it was best to keep -" he paused - "Rosaleen out of it all. No need to give her unnecessary pain."

"Do you mind coming to the point?"

"Of course, of course. Well now, did you ever suspect - how shall we say - that there was anything - well - fishy - about Underhay's death?"

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Well, Underhay had rather peculiar ideas, you know. It may have been chivalry - it may just possibly have been for quite a different reason - but let's say that, at a particular moment some years ago there were certain advantages to Underhay in being considered dead. He was good at managing natives - always had been. No trouble to him to get a probable story circulated with any amount of corroborative detail. All Underhay had to do was to turn up about a thousand miles away - with a new name."

"It seems a most fantastic supposition to me," said David.

"Does it? Does it really?" Arden smiled. He leaned forward, tapped David on the knee. "Suppose it's true, Hunter? Eh? Suppose it's true?"

"I should require very definite proof of it."

"Would you? Well, of course, there's no super-definite proof. Underhay himself could turn up here - in Warmsley Vale. How'd you like that for proof?"