Behind the table where the chessmen stood was a Jacobean dresser in black oak, and, as she stood at gaze, a set of features limned themselves pallidly against the dark background, like Pepper’s ghost.

“What is it?” asked Peter over her shoulder; “Toby jugs or pewter pots or the dubious chest with Brummagem handles?”

“The chessmen,” said Harriet. “I have fallen a victim to them. I don’t know why. I have no possible use for them. It’s just one of those bewitchments.”

“ ‘The reason no man knows, let it suffice What we behold is censured by our eyes.’ To be possessed is an admirable reason for possessing.”

“What would they want for them, I wonder?”

“If they’re complete and genuine, anything from forty to eighty pounds.”

“Too much. When did you get back?”

“Just before lunch. I was on my way to see you. Were you going anywhere in particular?”

“No-just wandering. Have you found out anything useful?”

“I have been scouring England for a man called Arthur Robinson. Does the name mean anything to you?”

“Nothing whatever.”

“Nor to me. I approached it with a refreshing absence of prejudice. Have there been any developments in College?”

“Well, yes. Something rather queer happened the other night. Only I don’t quite understand it.”

“Will you come for a run and tell me about it? I’ve got the car, and it’s a fine afternoon.” Harriet looked round, and saw the Daimler parked by the kerb.

“I’d love to.”

“We’ll dawdle along the lanes and have tea somewhere,” he added, conventionally, as he handed her in.

“How original of you, Peter!”

“Isn’t it?” They moved decorously down the crowded High Street. “There’s something hypnotic about the word tea. I am asking you to enjoy the beauties of the English countryside, to tell me your adventures and hear mine, to plan a campaign involving the comfort and reputation of two hundred people, to honour me with your sole presence and bestow upon me the illusion of Paradise-and I speak as though the pre-eminent object of all desire were a pot of boiled water and a plateful of synthetic pastries in Ye Olde Worlde Tudor Tea Shoppe.”

“If we dawdle till after opening-time,” said Harriet, practically, “we can get bread-and-cheese and beer in the village pub.”

“Now you have said something.

The crystal springs, whose taste illuminates

Refined eyes with an eternal sight,

Like tried silver, run through Paradise

To entertain divine Zenocrate.”

Harriet could find no adequate reply to this, but sat watching his hands as they lay lightly on the driving-wheel. The car passed on through Long Marston out to Marston and Elsfield. Presently he turned it into a side-road and thence into a lane and there drew up.

“There comes a moment when one must cease voyaging through strange seas of thought alone. Will you speak first, or shall I?”

“Who is Arthur Robinson?”

“Arthur Robinson is the gentleman who behaved so strangely in the matter of a thesis. He was an M.A. of York University, held various tutorships from time to time in various seats of learning, applied for the Chair of Modern History at York, and there came up against the formidable memory and detective ability of your Miss de Vine, who was then Head of Flamborough College and on the examining body. He was a fair, handsome man, aged about thirty-five at the time, very agreeable and popular, though hampered a little in his social career by having in a weak moment married his landlady’s daughter. After the unfortunate episode of the thesis, he disappeared from academic circles, and was no more heard of. At the time of his disappearance he had one female child of two years of age and another expected. I managed to hunt up a former friend of his, who said that he had heard nothing of Robinson since the disaster, but fancied that he had gone abroad and changed his name. He referred me to a man called Simpson, living in Nottingham. I pursued Simpson, and found that he had, in the most inconvenient way, died last year. I returned to London and dispatched sundry members of Miss Climpson’s Bureau in search of other friends and colleagues of Mr. Arthur Robinson, and also to Somerset House to hunt through the Marriage and Birth Registers. That is all I have to show for two days of intensive activity-except that I honourably delivered your manuscript to your secretary.”

“Thank you very much. Arthur Robinson. Do you think he can possibly have anything to do with it?”

“Well, it’s rather a far cry. But it’s a fact that until Miss de Vine came here there were no disturbances, and the only thing she has ever mentioned that might suggest a personal enmity is the story of Arthur Robinson. It seemed just worth while following up.”

“Yes, I see… I hope you’re not going to suggest that Miss Hillyard is Arthur Robinson in disguise, because I’ve known her for ten years.”

“Why Miss Hillyard? What’s she been doing?”

“Nothing susceptible of proof.”

“Tell me.”

Harriet told him the story of the telephone call, to which he listened with a grave face.

“Was I making a mountain out of a molehill?”

“I think not. I think our friend has realized that you are a danger and is minded to tackle you first. Unless it is a quite separate feud-which is just possible. On the whole it’s as well that you thought of ringing back.”

“You may take the credit for that. I hadn’t forgotten your scathing remarks about the thriller-heroine and the bogus message from Scotland Yard.”

“Hadn’t you?… Harriet, will you let me show you how to meet an attack if it ever does come?”

“Meet a-? Yes, I should like to know. Though I’m fairly strong, you know. I think I could cope with most things, except a stab in the back. That was what I rather expected.”

“I doubt if it will be that,” said he, coolly. “It makes a mess and leaves a messy weapon to be disposed of. Strangling is cleaner and quicker and makes no noise to speak of.”

“Yeough!”

“You have a nice throat for it,” pursued his lordship, thoughtfully. “It has a kind of arum-lily quality that is in itself a temptation to violence. I do not want to be run in by the local bobby for assault; but if you will kindly step aside with me into this convenient field, it will give me great pleasure to strangle you scientifically in several positions.”

“You’re a gruesome companion for a day’s outing.”

“I’m quite serious.” He had got out of the car and was holding the door open for her. “Come, Harriet. I am very civilly pretending that I don’t care what dangers you run. You don’t want me to howl at your feet, do you?”

“You’re going to make me feel ignorant and helpless,” said Harriet, following him nevertheless to the nearest gate. “I don’t like it.”

“This field will do charmingly. It is not laid down for hay, it is reasonably free from thistles and cow-pats, and there is a high hedge to screen us from the road.”

“And it is soft to fall on and has a pond to throw the corpse into if you get carried away by your enthusiasm. Very well. I have said my prayers.”

“Then kindly imagine me to be an unpleasant-faced thug with designs on your purse, your virtue and your life.”

The next few minutes were rather breathless.

“Don’t thrash about,” said Peter, mildly. “You’ll only exhaust yourself. Use my weight to upset me with. I’m putting it entirely at your disposal, and I can’t throw it about in two directions at once. If you let my vaulting ambition overleap itself, I shall fall on the other side with the beautiful precision of Newton’s apple.”

“I don’t get that.”

“Try throttling me for a change, and I’ll show you.”

“Did I say this field was soft?” said Harriet, when her feet had been ignominiously hooked from under her. She rubbed herself resentfully. “Just let me do it to you, that’s all.”

And this time, whether by skill or favour, she did contrive to bring him off his balance, so that he only saved himself from sprawling by a complicated twist suggestive of an eel on a hook.