C.B. shrugged. 'Your main assignment is to get me all the dope you can on Communist secret procedure - like running this account in the name of the Workers' Benevolent. By second string, I mean following up any lead that might help us to solve Morden's murder. When you were last here you had a hunch that his sudden interest in Theosophy would be worth investigating.'

'Sure, and I did, Colonel.' The Irishism came out quite spontaneously, as Barney ran a hand through his short dark curls. 'And I've made a start on it. I couldn't go to old Mother Wardeel's last night, because of Ruddy's meeting. But I went the week before. She is running what I'd guess to be quite a profitable racket with no harm to it. No doubt most of the stuff she puts on is faked, but it provides something to natter about for a bunch of mostly worthy types who have more time and money than sense. I made two contacts that may prove worth cultivating, though: a Babu and a very attractive young woman.'

An image of Mary immediately sprang to C.B.'s mind. As a lead to checking up if it were she that Barney had encountered, he raised a prawn-like eyebrow and remarked: 'I shouldn't have thought that sort of thing held much appeal for young people; she must have been quite an exception.'

'Not as regards age. Of the twenty-odd women there, four or five were under thirty; and one was a tall blonde who might quite well have been a film starlet.'

This coincidence made Verney think it probable that Mary had balked at taking his tip to dye her beautiful golden hair, so was the blonde Barney had referred to; but, seeking to confirm this impression, he asked, 'What type is this young woman in whom you are interesting yourself?'

'She is a brunette. Brown as a Mediterranean mermaid, shoulder length hair that curls at the ends, eyebrows with a slightly satanic tilt, and a mouth as red as a pomegranate. She is a Mrs. Mauriac, and the widow of a Frenchman who was a Customs Officer.'

The description differed so greatly from C.B.'s memory of Mary Morden that he decided that, if she had carried out her intention of going to Mrs. Wardeel's, she must be the film-starlet. Meanwhile Barney was going on, 'She certainly is a poppet. That is, to look at. But she's one of the most puzzling pieces one could come across in a long day's march.'

'In what way?'

'Well, she talks in a most sophisticated manner about the sort of games one would expect Satanists to get up to, yet acts as if she were sweet seventeen and had never been kissed.'