But I don’t think we four ever suspected each other. In that one thing we are agreed. And, would you believe it, as the weeks went on and the police interrogation persisted, we got just plain bored. Bored to exhaustion. Bored to the last nerve. Then it stopped, and instead of Flossie’s death fading a bit, it grew into a bogey that none of us talked about. We could see each other thinking of it and a nightmarish sort of watching game set in. In a funny kind of way I think they were relieved when I told them what I’d done. They know of course that your visit has something to do with our X Adjustment.”

“So they also know about your X Adjustment?”

“Only very vaguely, except Douglas. Just that it’s rather special. That couldn’t be helped.”

Alleyn stared out at the clear and uncompromising landscape. “It’s a rum go,” he said, and after a moment: “Have you thought carefully about this? Do you realize you’re starting something you may want to stop and — not be able to stop?”

“I’ve thought about it ad nauseam.”

“I think I ought to warn you. I’m a bit of state machinery. Anyone can start me up but only the state can switch me off.”

“O.K.”

“Well,” Alleyn said, “you have been warned.”

“At least,” said Fabian, “I’ll give you a good dinner.”

“Then you’re my host?”

“Oh, yes. Didn’t you know? Arthur left Mount Moon to me and Flossie left her money to Douglas. You might say we were joint hosts,” said Fabian.

Mount Moon homestead was eighty years old and that is a great age for a house in the Antipodes. It had been built by Arthur Rubrick’s grandfather, from wood transported over the Pass in bullock wagons. It was originally a four-roomed cottage, but room after room had been added, at a rate about twice as slow as that achieved by the intrepid Mrs. Rubrick of those days in adding child after child to her husband’s quiver.