"That's nothing to what I've been through tonight," replied Neville. "Such fun and games at Greystones, my dear: you wouldn't believe!"

She shut her blotter upon her half-finished letter. "You haven't got them?" she asked, between eagerness and incredulity.

"All I've got is the jitters," said Neville. He strolled over to her, and to her surprise went down on his knee.

"Neville, what on earth - ?"

His hand clasped her ankle. "Let's have a look at your foot, my sweet." He pulled it up and studied her silver kid shoe. "O my prophetic soul! Now we are in a mess, aren't we? Just like your pretty little slippers." He let her go, and stood up.

Swift alarm dilated her eyes. She glanced down at her shoes, and twitched the folds of her frock over them. "What do you mean?"

"Can it, precious. You called on Ernie tonight, and hid behind a bush outside the study window."

"How did you know?" she asked quickly.

"Intuition. You might have left it to me. What was the use of dragging me into it if you were going to muscle in? God knows I was unwilling enough."

"That's just it. I didn't think you'd be any good. You're so unreliable, and I knew you hated doing it."

"Oh, I did, and I am, and I wasn't any good, but all the same it was damned silly of you not to give me a run for my money. Did you get them, by the way?"

"No. He only - laughed, and - oh, you know!"

"Well isn't that nice!" said Neville. "Did you happen to knock him on the head?"

"Oh, don't be silly!" she said impatiently.

"If that's acting, it's good," said Neville, looking at her critically. "Did you see who did?"

She was frowning. "Did I see who did what?"

"Knocked Ernie on the head. My pretty ninny, Ernie's been murdered."

A sound between a scream and a whimper broke from her. "Neville! Oh no! Nerrille, you don't mean that!"