It was about this time that he thought he heard something, or someone, moving. The sound came from the direction of the drive. Afterwards he was to be pressed as to just what kind of a sound it was, and for the life of him he couldn’t say. It wasn’t anything as definite as a footstep, and it was overlaid‘ by the continual soft stirring of the wind in the tops of the trees. It might have been someone coming up the drive on the grass verge and going off by the path which led round to the other side of the house, but neither he nor anyone else would have thought of that if every moment of the time when he stood waiting under the portico had not been sifted out again and again. And in the end all that you could say was that someone could have come up the drive in that way. What he heard was no evidence that anyone had done so. Any creature of the night could have been about its own secret business-cat, dog, fox, badger, owl.

He listened, but the sound didn’t come again. Four notes sounded faintly from the village clock, and then the twelve strokes of midnight. He waited a little longer and then began to walk along the front of the house, taking the left-hand turn. The gravel gave place to a wide paved walk. It was old and mossy, and his feet made no sound.

As he came round the corner and up on to the terrace he was quite out of the wind. It was not very dark. He could distinguish the stone balustrade and see how the ground dropped ledge by ledge. The woods on either side moved in the wind he could no longer feel. He turned from the prospect, and saw that there was a light in the corner room.

He did not know that the room was Herbert Whitall’s study. He had never been in the house in his life except that evening, when he had waited in the room to the left of the front door. That was where he had asked Lila to meet him. She was to come down, and she was to show a light, and he was to knock three times so that she would know it was he. There had been no light in the room outside which he had waited, but there was a light in this corner room. He wouldn’t put it past Lila to have muddled the whole thing up. He would have to investigate. There were two windows which showed a light. One of them was a long glass door. The real window showed only a dim glow, but the curtains of the door had been carelessly drawn. They left a two-inch gap, and a long, narrow streak of light came through it to lie in a crooked shaft on two descending steps and the damp stone beyond. The reason he had not seen it at once when he came round the corner was that there was a great dark bush of something on either side of the steps. As he passed between them, his sleeve brushed the right-hand bush and the smell of rosemary came out on the soft night Mr.

He looked through the gap in the curtains, and he saw Lila’s gold hair underneath the light. She was turned a little away, so that he did not see her face-only the hair, the line from cheek to chin, and her white neck a little bent as if she were looking down. She was wearing a long white dress.

He must have pressed on the door, because it moved under his hand. It had been ajar, opening towards him, and he had pushed it to. Well, that made everything quite simple. He groped for the handle, moved to avoid the swing of the door, and stepped into the lighted study.

Lila stood looking down at her right hand, which was red with blood. There was blood on her dress-a long smear. On the floor at her feet was a dagger with an ivory handle. It lay there as if it had just dropped from her hand. There was blood upon the hilt and upon the blade. And a couple of paces away Herbert Whitall lay dead in his evening clothes with blood on his shirt.

The eye may receive an impression too quickly for the brain to deal with it. The impact is too shocking. Reason and common sense rebel-the sense which is the common heritage from centuries of law and order. It is difficult immediately to believe in a violent breach of the common law.

Bill Waring stood where he was, his shoulder brushing the curtain which he had pushed aside. It came to him that Lila hadn’t moved or turned her head. He had pushed the curtain, the runners had gone swooshing back along the rail, but she hadn’t turned her head. He looked past her to the far side of the room and saw that the door stood open into a passage. There was a light in the passage, but not a bright one. The study light was very bright. It showed everything. It showed Adrian Grey in dressing-gown and pyjamas coming into the room and putting a hand behind him to shut the door. When he had shut it he said, ‘Lila-’ in just his quite usual way.

She moved for the first time, for the first time looked away from her bloodstained hand and the fallen dagger. A long, cold shudder ran over her. When Bill came forward, when he too said her name, she looked at him quite blankly, and looked away.

Adrian did not move. He put out his hand as he might have done to a child, and all at once she ran, crying and sobbing, to throw herself into his arms.

CHAPTER XV

They closed about her. The sobbing stilled. He looked at Bill Waring across the golden head that was pressed against his shoulder and said in his quiet voice,

‘He’s dead, isn’t he? Did you kill him?’

Bill stood where he was. He had that stunned feeling. It showed in his voice as he said,

‘No-did you?’

Adrian shook his head.

Bill said, ‘Did she?’ And then, with mind and voice waking from their shocked stupor, ‘No-no-it’s not possible!’

Adrian didn’t speak. He felt Lila draw a long trembling breath. He felt her suddenly a dead weight in his arms. If he had not been holding her so closely, she would have fallen. He picked her up and carried her over to the deep couch which stood at an angle to the fire. When he straightened himself after setting her down, it was to find that Bill had come across and was looking down over the back of the couch.

‘What is it?’

‘She’s fainted. It’s just as well. Why are you here?’

‘I came to take her away. I told her to meet me. I said I’d be outside the room to the left of the hall.’

‘Then why are you here?’ He emphasized the last word.

‘She didn’t come. I thought I would walk round the house. I saw a light-I saw Lila. The door was ajar. I came in.’

‘You’re sure you didn’t kill him?’

‘My God, no! He was dead. She was standing there, like you saw her, with the blood on her hand.’

They faced each other across the sofa with Lila between them, much too intent upon her and upon one another to be aware of anything else. If the handle of the door had turned, if the door had swung gently in, the movement would not have reached them.

It did not reach them.

Bill said, ‘What are we going to do-get her back to her room? There’s her dress-there’s nothing to be done with a stain like that.’ His mind baulked. All that blood wouldn’t wash out without leaving a mark. If they burned the dress it would be missed. But Lila must be got out of it.

Adrian shook his head. He said quietly,

‘No. It can’t be hushed up. Whatever we did, the dress would give us away. Too many people saw her in it tonight. You’ve got to clear out, and at once. If you don’t you’re for it-and it drags Lila in. Where are you staying?’

‘The Boar. But I checked out at half past ten. I wasn’t going back. If Lila was coming with me, I was taking her to Ray Fortescue. If she wouldn’t come, there wasn’t anything for me to stay for. I’ve got my car.’

‘You were going back to town?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then go-and get a move on! It’s the only thing you can do. This is my story. I couldn’t sleep, and I heard someone moving. My room is across the landing from Lila’s, and when I opened my door I saw her going down the stairs. I knew she sometimes walked in her sleep, so I followed her.’