“If you want to be tried for your life,” said the Fairy, “that’s another matter.”

“I want to be vindicated,” said Mark. “The charge would fall to pieces at once. There was no conceivable motive. And I have an alibi. Everyone knows I slept here that night.”

“Really?” said the Fairy.

“What do you mean?” said Mark.

“There’s always a motive, you know,” said she, “for anyone murdering anyone. The police are only human. When the machinery’s started they naturally want a conviction.”

Mark assured himself he was not frightened. If only Wither didn’t keep all his windows shut and then have a roaring fire!

“There’s a letter you wrote,” said the Fairy.

“What letter?”

“A letter to a Mr. Pelham, of your own College, dated six weeks ago, in which you say, ‘ I wish Bill the Blizzard could be moved to a better world.’”

Like a sharp physical pain the memory of that scribbled note came back to Mark. It was the sort of silly jocularity one used in the Progressive Element-the kind of thing that might be said a dozen times a day in Bracton about an opponent or even about a bore.

“How does that letter come to be in your hands?” said Mark.

“I think, Mr. Studdock,” said the Deputy Director, “it would be very improper to suggest that Miss Hardcastle should give any kind of exposition-in detail, I mean-of the actual working of the Institutional Police. In saying this I do not mean for one moment to deny that the fullest possible confidence between all the members of the N.I.C.E. is one of the most valuable characteristics it can have, and, indeed, a sine qua non of that really concrete and organic life which we expect it to develop. But there are necessarily certain spheres-not sharply defined, of course, but inevitably revealing themselves in response to the environment and obedience to the indwelling ethos or dialectic of the whole-in which a confidence that involved the verbal interchange of facts would-er-would defeat its own end.”

“You don’t suppose,” said Mark, “that anyone could take that letter to be meant seriously?”

“Ever tried to make a policeman understand anything?” said the Fairy. “I mean what you call a real policeman.”

Mark said nothing.

“And I don’t think the alibi is specially good,” said the Fairy. “You were seen talking to Bill at dinner. You were seen going out of the front door with him when he left. You were not seen coming back. Nothing is known of your movements till breakfast-time next morning. If you had gone with him by car to the scene of the murder you would have had ample time to walk back and go to bed by about 2.15. Frosty night, you know. No reason why your shoes should have been specially muddy or anything of that sort.”

“If I might pick up a point made by Miss Hardcastle “, said Wither, “this is a very good illustration of the immense importance of the Institutional Police. There are so many fine shades involved which it would be unreasonable to expect the ordinary authorities to understand but which, so long as they remain, so to speak, in our own family circle (I look upon the N.I.C.E . . . Mr. Studdock, as one great family) need develop no tendency to lead to any miscarriage of justice.”

Owing to some mental confusion which had before now assailed him in dentists’ operating-rooms and in the studies of headmasters, Mark began almost to identify the situation which seemed to be imprisoning him with his literal imprisonment by the four walls of that hot room. If only he could once get out of it, on any terms, out into the free air and sunlight, away over the countryside, away from the recurrent creak of the Deputy Director’s collar and the red stains on the end of Miss Hardcastle’s cheroot and the picture of the King which hung above the fireplace!

“You really advise me, sir,” he said, “not to go to the police?”

“To the police?” said Wither as if this idea were completely new. “I don’t think, Mr. Studdock, that anyone had quite contemplated your taking any irrevocable action of that sort. It might even be argued that by such an action you would be guilty-unintentionally guilty, I hasten to add-of some degree of disloyalty to your colleagues and specially to Miss Hardcastle. You would, of course, be placing yourself outside our protection . . .”

“That’s the point, Studdock,” said the Fairy. “Once you are in the hands of the police you are in the hands of the police.”

The moment of Mark’s decision had passed by him without his noticing it.

“Well,” he said. “what do you propose to do?”

“Me?” said the Fairy. “Sit tight. It’s lucky for you that it was we and not some outsider who found the wallet.”

“Not only fortunate for-er-Mr. Studdock,” added Wither gently, “but for the whole N.I.C.E. We could not have been indifferent . . .”

“There’s only one snag,” said the Fairy, “and that is that we haven’t got your letter to Pelham. Only a copy. But with any luck, nothing will come of that.”

“Then there’s nothing to be done at present?” said Mark.

“No,” said Wither. “No. No immediate action of any official character. It is, of course, very advisable that you should act, as I am sure you will, with the greatest prudence and-er-er-caution for the next few months. As long as you are with us, Scotland Yard would, I feel, see the inconvenience of trying to act unless they had a very clear case indeed. It is no doubt probable that some-er-some trial of strength between the ordinary executive and our own organisation will take place within the next six months: but I think it very unlikely they would choose to make this a test ease.”

“But do you mean they suspect me already?” said Mark.

“We’ll hope not,” said the Fairy. “Of course they want a prisoner-that’s only natural. But they’d a damn sight rather have one who doesn’t involve them in searching the premises of the N.I.C.E.”

“But, look here, damn it!” said Mark. “Aren’t you hoping to catch the thief in a day or two? Aren’t you going to do anything?”

“The thief?” said Wither. “There has been no suggestion so far that the body was rifled.”

“I mean the thief who stole my wallet.”

“Oh-ah-your wallet,” said the other, very gently stroking his refined, handsome face. “I see. I understand, do I, that you are advancing a charge of theft against some person or persons unknown”

“But, good God!” shouted Mark, “were you not assuming that someone stole it? Do you think I was there myself? Do you both think I am a murderer?”

“Please!” said the Deputy Director, “please, Mr. Studdock, you really must not shout. Quite apart from the indiscretion of it, I must remind you that you are in the presence of a lady. As far as I can remember, nothing has been said on our side about murder, and no charge of any sort had been made. My only anxiety is to make perfectly clear what we are all doing. There are, of course, certain lines of conduct and a certain mode of procedure which it would be theoretically possible for you to adopt and which would make it very difficult for us to continue the discussion. I am sure Miss Hardcastle agrees with me.”

“It’s all one to me,” said the Fairy. “Why Studdock should start bellowing at us because we are trying to keep him out of the dock, I don’t know. But that’s for him to decide. I’ve got a busy day and don’t want to hang about here all morning.”

“Really,” said Mark, “I should have thought it was excusable to”

“Pray compose yourself, Mr. Studdock,” said Wither.

“As I said before, we look upon ourselves as one family and nothing like a formal apology is required. We all understand one another and all dislike-er-scenes. I might perhaps be allowed to mention, in the friendliest possible manner, that any instability of temperament would be viewed by the Committee as-well, as not very favourable to the confirmation of your appointment. We are all speaking; of course, in the strictest confidence.”