"Nothing in it, I suppose? I've always said it was a hoax. Only you would come down to this rotten hole and make me live in a filthy, draughty cottage all to go chasing red herrings…' He broke off, his eyes riveted on her coat. "Gosh, Shirley - what's that?" he asked hoarsely.

She put the coat down. "Blood I shall have to burn it."

He turned a sickly colour and grasped at the edge of the table. "What - what happened?" he said. "You didn't you didn't use the gun, did you?"

"I didn't have to. He was dead."

"Dead?" he repeated stupidly. "What do you mean - dead?"

"Shot. So you see it wasn't such a red herring after all."

He sat down, still staring. "Gosh!" he said again. He seemed to make an effort to pull himself together. "Who did it?"

"I don't know. It looks fairly obvious though. His pockets had been searched, so whoever shot him must have known about this meeting. Anyway they didn't get it."

"How do you know?"

"He hadn't got it with him. He just managed to tell me that. Had cold feet, I suppose, and didn't dare carry it on him."

He stretched out his hand across the table and clumsily patted hers. "Sorry, Sis. Loathsome for you. Poor old girl!"

She said hardly: "That's all right. Only it's a nuisance."

"Nuisance! I should say it is. Why, we're no better off than we were before! If the thing really does exist. And if this chap was shot it looks pretty certain that it does."

She threw him an impatient look. "It exists all right. I know where it is too. He told me."

"He told you?" Her brother leaned forward. "Where then?" he said eagerly.

She got up. "Do you think I'd tell you?" she said contemptuously. "And have you blurt it out the next time you're drunk?"

He flushed. "Damn it, it's my affair, isn't it?"

She said fiercely: "Yes, it's your affair, and you leave me to do the work. All right, I'll do it, but you'll keep out of it! See?"