I wondered whether an account of this had reached her already. If it had, it would be interesting to get her views of the subject.

I came to the cottage and paused for a while to look at the neat garden. I opened the gate and, glancing up, I saw a figure behind the lace curtains. She would have heard the faint creaking of the gate. I stood by the door, expecting her to open it. When she did not, I knocked.

Nothing happened.

I lifted the heavy knocker and knocked again. I could hear the sound of it reverberating. Still I waited. Then I thought I heard footsteps, but no one came to the door.

I stood back and looked up at the windows. There was a shadow at one of them…someone was standing behind the lace curtains. I was sure of it. What could it mean? She knew I was here and did not want to let me in.

I walked down the path and turned back to look. Was it fancy or did I again see that shape behind the curtains? It was there…and it was gone.

This was strange. I believed Mrs. Pardell had been in the house. Well, I supposed, it must be that she did not want to see me.

A few days passed. The story of Dorabella’s ghost was discussed frequently.

“She have come back,” people said. “Her be looking for her husband. He’ll have gone over, and she be searching for him.”

One might have asked why search here if he had “gone over” to join her.

I was expecting to hear that someone else had seen her, but so far no one came forward to say so. When I went into the town people looked at me with interest. I was at the center of the drama, and they did not forget that I had brought myself into this by trying to patch up the quarrel between Tregarland and Jermyn.

More than ever I wished that Jowan was here. I felt lonely without him. I wanted to discuss Dorabella’s “ghost” and the unwillingness of Mrs. Pardell to see me. That had surprised and hurt me. I knew that she prided herself on her bluff honesty, which made it all the more strange. She was not the sort to hide behind curtains. Rather I should have expected her to open the door and say, I don’t want to see you, and then tell me why.

Her behavior after Jowan’s going to London without telling me added to my bewilderment.

Then there was a call from Jowan. My spirits rose at the sound of his voice.

“I’m back,” he said, “and I want to talk to you.”

“Yes, yes,” I said eagerly. “When?”

“Suppose I pick you up in an hour. We’ll have lunch at the Stag’s Head on the moor. I’ll tell you all about it then.”

I was excited. The pall of gloom had lifted.

He came on time and greeted me affectionately, but said nothing of significance until we were at the inn. He had chosen a secluded table where we could talk in peace.

I found it hard to contain my impatience, but it was clear to me that he would say nothing until he was ready to do so.

We ordered our food and it was only when it was on the table that he leaned toward me and said: “I’ve made a discovery. I think it may be significant.”

“In London?” I asked.

He nodded. “It was the only place where I could get it. I wanted to keep it to myself in case it came to nothing. It was not easy. I was not sure of dates and could only guess. It would have taken less time if I had had more details.”

“You’re keeping me in suspense.”

“I have unearthed Gordon Lewyth’s birth certificate from the records. He is the son of Matilda Lewyth and James Tregarland.”

“Oh!” I said.

“I suspected it might be the case, but I wanted to make absolutely sure.”

“I understood that his father was dead, and that because Matilda was a distant connection of the family, they came to Tregarland’s.”

“That was the story. It would have made a big scandal to bring his mistress and illegitimate son to Tregarland’s. Not that James Tregarland would care very much about that. He must have had his motives. Do you realize what this could mean?”

“Tell me what is in your mind.”

“I have been very uneasy about your staying there. There is something rather sinister about it all. I cannot believe in all these coincidences. Annette Pardell was the first to die.”

“I suppose they would say your ancestress was the first.”

“She drowned herself and that could have given them the idea.”

“Who?”

“Let’s see if we can work that out. The significant point is that Annette was going to have a child. After Dermot, that child would inherit Tregarland’s. It’s a big estate and has become prosperous in the last years.”

“Because of Gordon rather than Dermot.”

“Exactly. I’m theorizing, of course. But that is all I can do. It is you I am concerned about.”

I felt a pleasant glow creep over me and it was not due to the sparkling wine.

“I’d get you out of there quickly,” he went on, “but you won’t go without the child, Tristan. I can’t see how you could kidnap him. Suppose Annette died because she was carrying the child who would be heir to the estate? Now Dermot is dead.”

“And Dorabella…?”

“That’s the part that doesn’t fit. Her son was already born. I can’t understand that. Why your sister? That is what rather spoils my theory.”

“You think that someone murdered Annette because she was going to have a child?”

“Yes. The child would follow Dermot.”

“But she went swimming.”

“I don’t believe she did. She wouldn’t have done that. She was warned against it. She was too experienced to be so foolish.”

“That is what Mrs. Pardell said. She is convinced that Dermot killed her.”

“Dermot would never kill anyone.”

“Mrs. Pardell thought he was tired of Annette and that later he was tired of my sister, too, that he was a sort of Bluebeard who married women and then, when he was tired of them, just killed them.”

“A likely tale and absolute nonsense!”

I said suddenly, as a terrible fear came to me: “There was that time when Tristan was so ill. Someone must have gone into his room, uncovered him and opened the window, hoping it would kill him, which it might have done if Nanny Crabtree hadn’t gone in in time.”

“That fits,” he said. “Annette’s possible heir, then Tristan. And…what of Dermot?”

“Are you suggesting that someone in the house murdered Dermot?”

“That would clear the decks a bit, wouldn’t it?”

I looked at him in disbelief. “You mean…for Gordon?”

He nodded. “Listen. Gordon has been brought up there. He runs the estate…excellently. He is devoted to it. He regards it as his. He is Tregarland’s son, but because his mother was not married to his father when he was born…”

“You think she is now?”

“No. I don’t know why James didn’t marry her, but it seems he hasn’t. But I feel sure that if he had no legitimate heirs everything would go to Gordon.”

“You are suggesting that Gordon killed Annette…and perhaps Dermot?”

“Who else?”

“But Annette was supposed to have been caught by the tide, by cross-currents or cramp…”

“Is that plausible?”

“Not entirely.”

“And Dermot?”

“He might have taken those pills himself. On the other hand, he might not. It leaves the way clear, except for…”

I was staring at him in horror. “If this is so…Tristan is in danger…imminent danger.”

He nodded.

“Jowan, I’m frightened.”

“I knew you would be. The child will have to be watched day and night. If I am right in what I am thinking, there will be an attempt on his life.”

“How…?”

“It was attempted before. There is one thing that baffles me. It is your sister’s death. She was not in the way. Dermot was the one…and now Tristan. Dermot is dead and we cannot be sure how he died. It might have been by his own hand, as the coroner’s verdict decided. It would seem that this was a reasonable deduction—apart from one thing. Someone would profit from his death. But there was no reason to be rid of your sister. If there had been a child on the way, yes. But presumably there was not. And that is where the theory falls down.”