“What’s made it so worrying?” he asked, and his hand was gripping her forearm firmly; encouragingly. “News of Alan?”

“In a way.”

“Bad?”

“A man said,” Gillian began, paused as if she didn’t know how to continue, and then suddenly began to talk as if she would never be able to stop. The whole story poured out of her as they stood there in the sunlight and amid the silence, with M.M.M. leaning against the front door and Rollison looking into Gillian’s beautiful eyes, made radiant by her eagerness to make sure that he understood everything. He did; she even managed to make him understand what a temptation it had been to sign on the dotted line, and accept Lodwin’s offer.

As the story progressed, M.M.M.’s smile faded, and he looked both bewildered and baffled. When she had finished he looked from her to Rollison and back again, as if quite speechless. When he did manage to speak, it was gustily.

“You mean three different people want the farm?” His voice squeaked. “They must be crazy !”

“Three people if the man who telephoned wants it,” agreed Gillian. “He didn’t actually say so, just said that I mustn’t tell anyone that Alan was missing until he’d been to see me. He ought to be here soon,” she added, and looked along the road.

“He’ll come, sooner or later,” said Rollison, “but probably not if Monty and I are still here. He’ll watch the cottage and try to catch you on your own.”

“Sixth-sighted Sammy says so,” said M.M.M., weakly. “What on earth do you make of all this, Roily ?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ve got round to wondering if Mr. Smith of the farm knows anything, and whether his knowledge explains why he doesn’t want to give up possession,” Rollison said thoughtfully. “The puzzling factor about the story you first told me was that old Smith should be so difficult to move. I wondered what his real motive was, and it’s beginning to look as if there is a good one,”