It was Bessie’s death, however, that had forced her to send for me.

He would come over at night, she said; would bicycle to the river after dark, row across, and walk up to the Farm. He knew the back roads. What terrified her was that once when he came she had told him about Bessie and her extortion.

“I was afraid he would have a stroke,” she said. “The veins on his forehead swelled up, and his face was purple. ‘That little bitch,’ he said. ‘If she makes trouble for you it will be the end of her.’”

“He couldn’t have done it, Margery. Not unless he could get into the house.”

I told her about the Buddha, but she was not convinced. He knew the Cloisters from top to bottom. He might have had ways of his own for getting in.

We had been sitting in the dark. Once she lit a cigarette, however, and by its light I saw her face. It was thin and despairing, as though she had not a hope left in the world.

“My husband or my father, Pat,” she said. “What am I to do?”

“Julian never did it. You can be sure of that.”

“I can’t prove anything. If my father is crazy—and he must be—even a confession from him wouldn’t be much good, would it?”

The only thing I could think of was to tell Jim Conway the whole story. He had never believed Julian guilty. He might be able to find some way out. She promised to think it over.

Going home that night I carried my automatic in my hand, with the safety catch off. I had no desire to meet a half-crazed Evans on my way back. It was a hideous trip. The sky had become overcast and I had to use the flash. It was like walking through a black tunnel in which the light bored a faint yellowish hole. That half mile or so was one of pure agony, for I had not gone a third of the way before I knew I was being followed. There was someone behind me.

There was no doubt whatever. Someone—perhaps in rubber-soled shoes—was following me. There was no sharp impact of leather on frozen ground, but a soft regular beat. Like a trapped rat I turned suddenly and threw the light back along the path. Whoever it was dodged among the trees, but that was all I needed. I ran the rest of the way as I never ran before, and if I had had any doubts they were settled when I left the trail and struck the grass lawn of the Cloisters. Whoever it was was still running along the path, and running fast.

I think he stopped there, however. I made the east wing door, where I had left the chain off, in nothing flat. Somehow I unlocked the door and got inside. I put up the chain and then, completely breathless and shaken, I sat on a chair in the hall and struggled for breath. Everything was quiet. Only my own noisy breathing broke the silence. There was the usual dim light in the main hall, and at last I forced myself to my feet. I was still trembling. I was cold and I had had a shock.