‘I know all that,’ said Miss Blacklock crisply. It was, indeed, a constant refrain on Mitzi’s lips. ‘But why do you want to leavenow?’

‘Because again they come to kill me!’

‘Who do?’

‘My enemies. The Nazis! Or perhaps this time it is the Bolsheviks. They find out I am here. They come to kill me. I have read it-yes-it is in the newspaper!’

‘Oh, you mean in theGazette?’

‘Here, it is writtenhere.’ Mitzi produced theGazette from where she had been holding it behind her back. ‘See-here it says amurder. At Little Paddocks. That is here, is it not? This evening at 6.30. Ah! I do not wait to be murdered-no.’

‘But why should this apply toyou? It’s-we think it is a joke.’

‘Ajoke? It is not a joke to murder someone.’

‘No, of course not. But my dear child, if anyone wanted to murder you, they wouldn’t advertise the fact in the paper, would they?’

‘You do not think they would?’ Mitzi seemed a little shaken. ‘You think, perhaps, they do not mean to murder anyone at all? Perhaps it isyou they mean to murder, Miss Blacklock.’

‘I certainly can’t believe anyone wants to murder me,’ said Miss Blacklock lightly. ‘And really, Mitzi, I don’t see why anyone should want to murder you. After all, why should they?’

‘Because they are bad peoples…Very bad peoples. I tell you, my mother, my little brother, my so sweet niece…’

‘Yes, yes.’ Miss Blacklock stemmed the flow, adroitly. ‘But I cannot really believeanyone wants to murder you, Mitzi. Of course, if you want to go off like this at a moment’s notice, I can’t possibly stop you. But I think you will be very silly if you do.’

She added firmly, as Mitzi looked doubtful:

‘We’ll have that beef the butcher sent stewed for lunch. It looks very tough.’