“Thank you. Daddy will be simply livid about it. You see, I can’t remember when I last noticed I still had them. It’s all terribly confusing. I put them in a leather folder thing in my suit-case when I got them from the purser.”

“That was a damn’ silly thing to do,” said Mr. Meyer gloomily.

“I suppose it was, but I’m awful about money. Such a fool. And, you see, this morning, before I shut the suit-case, I felt the folder and it rustled, so I thought, well, that’s all right. And then, just now, I couldn’t sleep in this frightful train so I thought I’d write a letter, and I got out the folder and it was full of paper.”

“What sort of paper?” asked Carolyn, sleepily.

“Well, that’s what makes me wonder if it’s just a low joke someone’s played on me.”

“Why?” asked Alleyn.

“Oh!” said Miss Gaynes impatiently, “you must be too pure and clean-minded at Scotland Yard.”

Hambledon murmured something to Alleyn who said: “Oh, I see.”

“It was the brand they had in the ship. I noticed that. I call that pretty good, don’t you? I mean, to notice that. Do you think I’d make a sleuthess, Mr. Alleyn? No, but really, isn’t it a bore? What ought I to do? Of course I’ve got a letter of credit for Middleton, but after all one doesn’t like being burgled.”

“Did you look at your folder, or whatever it was, after breakfast this morning?” asked Meyer suddenly.

“Er—no. No, I’m sure I didn’t. Why?”

“How much was in it?”

“I’m not sure. Let me think. I used four—no, five pounds, for tips and then I paid Frankie ten that I lost at—”

She stopped short, and a kind of blankness came into her eyes.

“Oh, what’s the use, anyway,” she said. “I suppose it was about ninety pounds. It’s gone. And that’s that. I mustn’t keep you up, darling Miss Dacres.”

She made for the door. Alleyn opened it.

“If you would like to let me see the leather case—” he said.

“Too sweet of you, but honestly I’m afraid the money’s gone for good.”

“Well, I should let him see it,” said Carolyn, vaguely. “He may be able to trace it directly to the murderous footballer.”

“What murderous footballer?”

“I’ll tell you in the morning, Valerie. Good night. I’m so sorry about your money, but Mr. Alleyn will find it for you as soon as he has time. We’ve all had quite enough excitement for one night. Let us curl up in our horrid little sleepers.”

“Good night,” said Miss Gaynes and went out.