Alleyn sat back on his heels and laughed. “No, no. I’m talking about a certain Detective-Inspector Fox. He’s large and slow and innocently straight-forward. He works with me at the Yard. I never have to show off to old Fox, bless him. Now let’s see if it will light. You try, while I fill the billy.”

He went down to the creek and, standing on a boulder, held the billy against the weight of the stream. The water was icy cold and swift-running, and the sound of it among the stones was so loud that it seemed to flow over his senses. Innumerable labials all sounding together with a deep under-tone that muttered among the boulders. It was pleasant to lift the brimming billy out of the creek and to turn again towards the bank where Carolyn had lit the fire. A thin spiral of smoke rose from it, pungent and aromatic.

“It’s alight—it’s going!” cried Carolyn, “and doesn’t it smell good?”

She turned her face up to him. Her eyes were still dimmed with tears, her hair was not quite smooth, her lips parted tremulously. She looked beautiful.

“It would be so happy,” she said, “if there was nothing but this.”

Alleyn set the can of water on the stones and built up the fire. They moved away from it and lit cigarettes,

“I am glad you do not go into ecstasies over nature,” said Alleyn. “I was rather afraid you would.”

“I expect I should have—yesterday. Dear Mr. Alleyn, will you ask me all your questions now? I would like you to get it over, if you don’t mind.”

But Alleyn would not ask his questions until they had lunched, saying that he was ravenous. They had white wine with their lunch, and he brewed his billy-tea to take the place of coffee. It was smoky but unexpectedly good. He wondered which of them was dreading most the business that was to come. She helped him to pack up their basket and then suddenly she turned to him:

“Now, please. The interview.”

For perhaps the first time in his life, Alleyn found himself unwilling to carry his case a step further. He had set the stage deliberately, hoping to bring about precisely this attitude in Carolyn. Here she was, taken away from her protective background, vulnerable, and not unfriendly and yet—

He thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out a little box. He opened it and laid it on the rug between them.

“My first question is about that. You can touch it if you like. It has been ‘finger-printed.’”

Inside the box lay the little green tiki.

“Oh!—” It was an involuntary exclamation, he would have sworn. For a second she was simply surprised. Then she seemed to go very still. “Why, it’s my tiki—you’ve found it. I’m so glad.” The least fraction of a pause. “Where was it?”