“But why the whole thing?” he persisted. “Why not have given this miserable glove to the lost property person, or Mr. Emmanuel? Don’t Majendie’s have security officers on the premises? Yes, of course. Suppose one of them had seen you whipping up this article belonging to a customer? How did you do it? Wrapped it in your duster, I imagine, and took it out to hide in your handbag. What could look more suspicious! Suppose I’d come back, swearing and insisting I’d lost the glove in the shop? How were you to know I wouldn’t notice for some time that it was gone? Yes, I know it sounds implausible, but Majendie’s would do anything to placate a customer who threatened to make a fuss. There are such people, and I might have been one of them. Don’t you see what risks you took? And for what?” He paused. “Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know,” she said, hesitantly. “Well—suddenly it was there in front of me, and just even while I was seeing what it was, I saw I had a chance to do something—oh, different, quite exciting, really—no, not the getting the glove to the locker, that was just something that had to be done—but coming here. That is, somewhere new, where I hadn’t been before.”

Brett was silent. Then how was it that she’d taken such pains to read his address before finding the glove?

“It’s so boring, usually,” she added.

“What is?”

She heaved a great sigh, and leaned back against the wall. “Everything. I want—I don’t know.”

Brett looked at her, particularly at that long creamy curve of neck. He recalled to mind the knitted blouse at present concealed by the coat; and in that connection, one of Beddoes’ succinct dicta: every neckline tells a story. He thought he knew what Stephanie wanted. Unfortunately, as she said, and with truth, he was quite sure, she didn’t know herself. He reflected with a wry smile how calamitous it would be if he were so far to transgress his own law of the permissible as even to utter any of his several suggestions.

“Well, that train!” he said innocuously. “I suppose you have to work as usual tomorrow?”

“Only the morning,” she said, following him to the kitchen without question. “We close at twelve-thirty, so we can all go.”

He stopped. “I didn’t put the guard round the fire. I think I’d better. Wait here a moment.” He slipped back to the living room. As he attended to the fire, he observed that he was still wearing Truffaldino’s slippers; but he couldn’t be bothered with going upstairs to find a pair of shoes.

He returned to the kitchen, opened the broom cupboard, and pulled out a pair of dusty wellingtons.