“. . nk,” went the last coin, and a man said : “Hallo?”

“This is Selby Cottage, please “

“Is that Miss Selby?”

“Yes, will you please hurry, someone’s at the door.”

“Miss Selby,” the man said, “I’m coming to see you in about an hour’s time. I’ll have a message from your brother. Don’t tell anyone that he is missing until I’ve seen you, or he might get hurt.”

It was the last phrase which caught her unawares. One moment she had felt a surge of relief at the promise of a message from Alan; then the warning had followed without meaning very much, until the man said in a clear, clipped voice: “Or he might get hurt.”

It was the voice of a man who seemed to mean exactly what he said.

“What do you mean?” she made herself ask quickly. “Who are you ? Where’s Alan ?”

“I’ll see you in about an hour,” the man repeated, and the line went dead.

Gillian stood with the receiver in her hand, staring at the earpiece as if it were to blame. The coppery-haired young man was out of sight now, but another, shorter, older, darker clad, was passing the window, a determined looking “I-am-important-mind-out-of-my-way” kind of individual. Then there came a sharp knock at the front door.

Gillian replaced the receiver slowly, but didn’t move. She could hear the telephoned words as clearly as if they were being repeated, and they seemed to get inside her, making her feel cold. She shivered, a swift, sharp spasm, then made herself move towards the front door. This opened straight onto the porch and the garden, there was no hall to the cottage. Another door led to a small front room and the stairs to the two bedrooms and the bathroom.

The knock came again.

Gillian said, in a strained voice : “What on earth was he talking about? Why should Alan get hurt?” She neared the door as the caller knocked again, and suddenly she exploded: “All right, I’m coming!” She had completely forgotten Monty and the promised visitor, and could not get the threat out of her mind.