‘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 wall-papers 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…’

‘Oh!’ said Miss Helier, ‘how creepy!’

‘The question was: Hadn’t the blue primrose always been there? That was George’s suggestion and the nurse’s. But Mrs Pritchard wouldn’t have it at any price. She had never noticed it till that very morning and the night before had been full moon. She was very upset about it.’

‘I met George Pritchard that same day and he told me about it,’ said Mrs Bantry. ‘I went to see Mrs Pritchard and did my best to ridicule the whole thing; but without success. I came away really concerned, and I remember I met Jean Instow and told her about it. Jean is a queer girl. She said, “So she’s really upset about it?” I told her that I thought the woman was perfectly capable of dying of fright—she was really abnormally superstitious.