‘“In fact all the usual stock-in-trade,” said George cheerfully.

‘His wife immediately closed her eyes.

‘“I feel extremely ill,” she said. “Ring for nurse. Unkindness upsets me, as you know only too well.”

‘It was two days later that Nurse Copling came to George with a grave face.

‘“Will you come to Mrs Pritchard, please. She has had a letter which upsets her greatly.”

‘He found his wife with the letter in her hand. She held it out to him.

‘“Read it,” she said.

‘George read it. It was on heavily scented paper, and the writing was big and black.

‘I have seen the future. Be warned before it is too late. Beware of the Full Moon. The Blue Primrose means Warning; the Blue Hollyhock means Danger; the Blue Geranium means Death . . .

‘Just about to burst out laughing, George caught Nurse Copling’s eye. She made a quick warning gesture. He said rather awkwardly, “The woman’s probably trying to frighten you, Mary. Anyway there aren’t such things as blue primroses and blue geraniums.”

‘But Mrs Pritchard began to cry and say her days were numbered. Nurse Copling came out with George upon the landing.

‘“Of all the silly tomfoolery,” he burst out.

‘“I suppose it is.”

‘Something in the nurse’s tone struck him, and he stared at her in amazement.

‘“Surely, nurse, you don’t believe—”

‘“No, no, Mr Pritchard. I don’t believe in reading the future—that’s nonsense. What puzzles me is the meaning of this. Fortune-tellers are usually out for what they can get. But this woman seems to be frightening Mrs Pritchard with no advantage to herself. I can’t see the point. There’s another thing—”

‘“Yes?”

‘“Mrs Pritchard says that something about Zarida was faintly familiar to her.”

‘“Well?”

‘“Well, I don’t like it, Mr Pritchard, that’s all.”

‘“I didn’t know you were so superstitious, nurse.”

‘“I’m not superstitious; but I know when a thing is fishy.”

‘It was about four days after this that the first incident happened. To explain it to you, I shall have to describe Mrs Pritchard’s room—’

‘You’d better let me do that,’ interrupted Mrs Bantry. ‘It was papered with one of those new wallpapers where you apply clumps of flowers to make a kind of herbaceous border. The effect is almost like being in a garden—though, of course, the flowers are all wrong. I mean they simply couldn’t be in bloom all at the same time—’

‘Don’t let a passion for horticultural accuracy run away with you, Dolly,’ said her husband. ‘We all know you’re an enthusiastic gardener.’

‘Well, it is absurd,’ protested Mrs Bantry. ‘To have bluebells and daffodils and lupins and hollyhocks and Michaelmas daisies all grouped together.’

‘Most unscientific,’ said Sir Henry. ‘But to proceed with the story.’

‘Well, among these massed flowers were primroses, clumps of yellow and pink primroses and—oh go on, Arthur, this is your story—’

Colonel Bantry took up the tale.

‘Mrs Pritchard rang her bell violently one morning. The household came running—thought she was in extremis; not at all. She was violently excited and pointing at the wallpaper; and there sure enough was one blue primrose in the midst of the others . . .’