“There might be students here all through Hall-they often have eggs in their rooms. And-good God!-there was somebody unusual-She said something about the chessmen, too. And she was queer about them last night.”

“Who was that?”

“Miss Hillyard.”

“Again!”

While Harriet told her story he fidgeted restlessly about the room, avoiding the broken glass and ivory on the floor with the automatic precision of a cat, and stood at length in the window with his back to her. She had drawn the curtains together when she had brought him up, and his gaze at them seemed purely preoccupied.

“Hell!” he said, presently. “That’s a devil of a complication.” He still had the red pawn in his hand, and he now came back, and set it with great precision in the centre of the mantelpiece. “Yes. Well, I suppose you’ll have to find out-”

Somebody knocked at the door, and Harriet went to open it.

“Excuse me, madam, but Padgett sent over to the Senior Common Room to see if Lord Peter Wimsey was there, and seeing he thought you might know-”

“He’s here, Annie. It’s for you, Peter.”

“Yes?” said Peter, coming to the door.

“If you please, sir, they’ve rung up from the Mitre to say there’s a message come from the Foreign Office and would you kindly ring up at once.”

“What? Oh, Lord, that would happen! Very well, thank you, Annie. Oh, one moment. Was it you who saw the-er-the person who was playing tricks in the Lecture-Room?”

“Yes, sir. Not to know her again, sir.”

“No; but you did see her, and she may not know you couldn’t recognize her. I think if I were you I’d be rather careful how you go about the College after dark. I don’t want to frighten you, but you see what’s happened to Miss Vane’s chessmen?”

“Yes, I see, sir. What a pity, isn’t it?”

“It would be more than a pity if anything unpleasant happened to you personally. Now, don’t get the wind up-but if I were you, I’d take somebody with me when I went out after sunset. And I should give the same advice to the scout who was with you.”

“To Carrie? Very well, I’ll tell her.”

“It’s only a precaution, you know. Good-night, Annie.”

“Good-night, sir. Thank you.”

“I shall have to make quite an issue of dog-collars,” said Peter. “You never know whether to warn people or not. Some of them get hysterics, but she looks fairly level-headed. Look here, my dear, this is all very tiresome. If it’s another summons to Rome, I shall have to go. (I should lock that door.) Needs must when duty calls, and all that. If it is Rome, I’ll tell Bunter to bring round all the notes I’ve got at the Mitre and instruct Miss Climpson’s sleuths to report direct to you. In any case, I’ll ring you up this evening as soon as I know what it’s all about. If it isn’t Rome, I’ll come round again in the morning. And in the meantime, don’t let anybody into your room. I think I’d lock it up and sleep elsewhere tonight.”

“I thought you didn’t expect any more night disturbances.”

“I don’t; but I don’t want people walking over that floor.” He stopped on the staircase to examine the soles of his shoes. “I haven’t carried away any bits. Do you think you have?”

Harriet stood first on one leg and then another.

“Not this time. And the first time I didn’t walk into the mess at all. I stood in the doorway and swore.”

“Good girl. The paths in the quad are a bit damp, you know, and something might have stuck. As a matter of fact, it’s raining a little now. You’ll get wet”

“It doesn’t matter. Oh, Peter! I’ve got that white scarf of yours.”

“Keep it till I come again-which will be tomorrow, with luck, and otherwise, God knows when. Damn it! I knew there was trouble coming.” He stood still under the beech-trees. “Harriet, don’t choose the moment my back’s turned to get yourself wiped out or anything-not if you can help it; I mean, you’re not very good at looking after valuables.”

“I might have the decency to take care? All right, Peter. I’ll do my best this time. Word of honour.”

She gave him her hand and he kissed it. Once again Harriet thought she saw somebody move in the darkness, as on the last occasion they had walked through the shadowy quads. But she dared not delay him and so again said nothing. Padgett let him out through the gate and Harriet, turning away, found herself face to face with Miss Hillyard.

“Miss Vane, I should like to speak to you.”

“Certainly,” said Harriet. “I should rather like to speak to you.”

Miss Hillyard, without another word, led the way to her own rooms. Harriet followed her up the stairs and into the sitting-room. The tutor’s face was very white as she shut the door after them and said, without asking Harriet to sit down:

“Miss Vane. What are the relations between that man and you?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean. If nobody else will speak to you about your behaviour, I must. You bring the man here, knowing perfectly well what his reputation is-”

“I know what his reputation as a detective is.”

“I mean his moral reputation. You know as well as I do that he is notorious all over Europe. He keeps women by the score-”

“All at once or in succession?”

“It’s no use being impertinent. I suppose that to a person with your past history, that kind of thing is merely amusing. But you must try to conduct yourself with a little more decency. The way you look at him is a disgrace. You pretend to be the merest acquaintance of his and call him by his title in public and his Christian name in private. You take him up to your room at night-”

“Really, Miss Hillyard, I can’t allow-”

“I’ve seen you. Twice. He was there tonight. You let him kiss your hands and make love to you-”

“So that was you, spying about under the beeches.”

“How dare you use such a word?”

“How dare you say such a thing?”

“It’s no affair of mine how you behave in Bloomsbury. But if you bring your lovers here-”

“You know very well that he is not my lover. And you know very well why he came to my room tonight.”

“I can guess.”

“And I know very well why you came there.”

“I came there? I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do. And you know that he came to see the damage you did in my room.”

“I never went into your room.”

“You didn’t go into my room and smash up my chessmen?”

Miss Hillyard’s dark eyes flickered.

“Certainly I did not. I told you I hadn’t been anywhere near your room tonight.”

“Then,” said Harriet, “you told a lie.”

She was too angry to be frightened, though it did cross her mind that if the furious white-faced woman attacked her, it might be difficult to summon assistance on this isolated staircase, and she thought of the dog-collar. “I know it’s a lie,” said Harriet, “because there’s a piece of broken ivory on the carpet under your writing-table and another stuck on the sole of your right shoe. I saw it, coming upstairs.”

She was prepared for anything after that, but to her surprise, Miss Hillyard staggered a little, sat down suddenly, and said, “Oh, my God!”

“If you had nothing to do with smashing those chessmen,” went on Harriet, “or with the other pranks that have been played in this College, you’d better explain those pieces of ivory.”

(Am I a fool, she thought, showing my hand like this? But if I didn’t, what would become of the evidence?)

Miss Hillyard, in a bewildered way, pulled off her slipper and looked at the sliver of white that clung to the heel, embedded in a little patch of damp gravel.

“Give it to me,” said Harriet, and took slipper and all.

She had expected an outburst of denial, but Miss Hillyard said, faintly:

“That’s evidence… incontrovertible…”

Harriet thanked Heaven, with grim amusement, for the scholarly habit; at least, one did not have to argue about what was or was not evidence.