A deft twist or two of the wrist and the drawer yielded.

There was a cash box containing twenty pound in notes and some piles of silver - also a jewel case. And there was a heap of papers. These last were what interested Tuppence most. Rapidly she went through them; necessarily it was a cursory glance. She could not afford time for more.

Papers relating to a mortgage on Sans Souci, a bank account, letters. Time flew past. Tuppence skimmed through the doc.u.ments, concentrating furiously on anything that might bear a double meaning. Two letters from a friend in Italy, rambling discursive letters, seemingly quite harmless. But possibly not so harmless as they sounded. A letter from one Simon Mortimer, of London - a dry business-like letter containing so little of moment that Tuppence wondered why it had been kept. Was Mr Mortimer not so harmless as he seemed? At the bottom of the pile a letter in faded ink signed Pat and beginning "This will be the last letter I'll be writing you, Eileen my darling -"

No, not that! Tuppence could not bring herself to read that! She refolded it, tidied the letters on top of it and then, suddenly alert, pushed the drawer to - no time to re-lock it - and when the door opened and Mrs Perenna came in, she was searching vaguely amongst the bottles on the washstand.

Mrs. Blenkensop turned a fl.u.s.tered, but foolish face towards her hostess.

"Oh, Mrs Perenna, do forgive me. I came in with such a blinding headache, and I thought I would lie down on my bed with a little aspirin, and I couldn't find mine, so I thought you wouldn't mind - I know you must have some because you offered it to Miss Minton the other day."

Mrs Perenna swept into the room. There was a sharpness in her voice as she said: "Why, of course, Mrs Blenkensop, why ever didn't you come and ask me?"

"Well, of course, yes, I should have done really. But I knew you were all at lunch, and I do hate, you know, making a fuss -"

Pa.s.sing Tuppence, Mrs Perenna caught up the bottle of aspirin from the washstand.

"How many would you like?" she demanded crisply.

Mrs Blenkensop accepted three. Escorted by Mrs Perenna she crossed to her own room and hastily demurred to the suggestion of a hot water bottle.

Mrs Perenna used her parting shot as she left the room.

"But you have some aspirin of your own, Mrs Blenkensop. I've seen it."

Tuppence cried quickly: "Oh, I know. I know I've got some somewhere, but, so stupid of me. I simply couldn't lay my hands on it."

Mrs Perenna said, with a, flash of her big white teeth: "Well, have a good rest until tea time."

She went out, closing the door behind her. Tuppence drew a deep breath, lying on her bed rigidly lest Mrs Perenna should return.

Had the other suspected anything? Those teeth, so big and so white - the better to eat you with, my dear. Tuppence always thought of that when she noticed those teeth. Mrs Perenna's hands too, big cruel-looking hands.

She had appeared to accept Tuppence's presence in her bedroom quite naturally. But latter she would find the bureau drawer unlocked. Would she suspect then? Or would she think she had left it unlocked herself by accident? One did do such things. Had Tuppence been able to replace the papers in such a way that they looked much the same as before?

Surely, even if Mrs Perenna did notice anything amiss she would be more likely to suspect one of the servants than she would "Mrs Blenkensop." And if she did suspect the latter, wouldn't it be a mere case of suspecting her of undue curiosity? There were people, Tuppence knew, who did poke and pry.

But then, if Mrs Perenna were the renowned German agent, M, she would be suspicious of counterespionage.

Had anything in her bearing revealed undue alertness?

She had seemed natural enough - only that one sharply pointed remark about the aspirin.

Suddenly, Tuppence sat up on her bed. She remembered that her aspirin, together with some iodine and a bottle of soda mints were all together at the back of the writing table drawer where she had shoved them when unpacking.

It would seem, therefore, that she was not the only person to snoop in other people's rooms. Mrs Perenna had got there first.

Chapter 7.

On the following day Mrs Sprot went up to London.

A few tentative remarks on her part had led immediately to various offers on the part of the inhabitants of Sans Souci to look after Betty.

When Mrs Sprot, with many final adjurations to Betty to be a very good girl, had departed, Betty attached herself to Tuppence, who had elected to take morning duty.

"Play," said Betty. "Play hide seek."

She was talking more easily every day and had adopted a most fetching habit of laying her head on one side, fixing her interlocutor with a bewitching smile and murmuring: "Peese."

Tuppence had intended taking her for a walk, but it was raining hard, so the two of them adjourned to the bedroom where Betty led the way to the bottom drawer of the bureau where her playthings were kept.

"Hide Bonzo, shall we?" asked Tuppence.

But Betty had changed her mind and demanded instead: "Wead me story."

Tuppence pulled out a rather tattered book from one end of the cupboard - to be interrupted by a squeal from Betty.

"No, no. Narsty... Bad..."

Tuppence stared at her in surprise and then down at the book, which was a coloured version of Little Jack Horner.

"Was Jack a bad boy?" she asked. "Because he pulled out a plum?"

Betty reiterated with emphasis: "Ba-a-ad!" and with a terrific effort, "Dirrrty!"

She seized the book from Tuppence and replaced it in the line, then tugged out an identical book from the other end of the shelf, announcing with a beaming face: "K-k-klean ni-i-ice Jackorner!"

Tuppence realized that the dirty and worn books had been replaced by new and cleaner editions and was rather amused. Mrs Sprot was very much what Tuppence thought of as "the hygienic mother." Always terrified of germs, of impure food, or of the child suckling a soiled toy.

Tuppence, brought up in a free and easy Rectory life, was always rather contemptuous of exaggerated hygiene and had brought up her own two children to absorb what she called a "reasonable amount" of dirt. However, she obediently took out the clean copy of Jack Horner and read it to the child with the comments proper to the occasion. Betty murmuring, "That's Jack! - Plum! - In a Pie," pointing out these interesting objects with a sticky finger that bade fair to soon consign this second copy to the sc.r.a.p heap. They proceeded to Goosey Goosey Gander and the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe, and then Betty hid the books and Tuppence took an amazingly long time to find each of them, to Betty's great glee, and so the morning pa.s.sed rapidly away.

After lunch Betty had her rest and it was then that Mrs O'Rourke invited Tuppence into her room.

Mrs O'Rourke's room was very untidy and smelt strongly of peppermint and stale cake with a faint odour of moth b.a.l.l.s added. There were photographs on every table of Mrs O'Rourke's children and grandchildren and nieces and nephews and great nieces and great nephews. There were so many of them that Tuppence felt as though she were looking at a realistically produced play of the late Victorian period.

"'Tis a grand way you have with children, Mrs Blenkensop," observed Mrs O'Rourke, genially.

"Oh, well," said Tuppence, "with my own two -"

Mrs O'Rourke cut in quickly: "Two? It was three boys I understood you had?"

"Oh, yes, three. But two of them are very near in age and I was thinking of the days spent with them."

"Ah! I see. Sit down now, Mrs Blenkensop. Make yourself at home."

Tuppence sat down obediently and wished that Mrs O'Rourke did not always make her feel so uncomfortable. She felt now exactly like Hansel or Gretel accepting the witch's invitation.

"Tell me now," said Mrs O'Rourke, "What do you think of Sans Souci?"

Tuppence began a somewhat gushing speech of eulogy, but Mrs O'Rourke cut short without ceremony.

"What I'd be asking you is if you don't feel there's something odd about the place?"

"Odd? No, I don't think so."

"Not about Mrs Perenna? You're interested in her, you must allow. I've seen you watching her and watching her."

Tuppence flushed.

"She - she's an interesting woman."

"She is not then," said Mrs O'Rourke. "She's a commonplace woman enough - that is if she's what she seems. But perhaps she isn't. Is that your idea?"

"Really, Mrs O'Rourke, I don't know what you mean."

"Have you ever stopped to think that many of us are that way - different to what we seem on the surface. Mr Meadowes, now. He's a puzzling kind of man. Sometimes I'd say he was a typical Englishman, stupid to the core, and there's other times I'll catch a look or a word that's not stupid at all. It's odd that, don't you think so?"

Tuppence said firmly: "Oh, I really think Mr Meadowes is very typical;"

"There are others. Perhaps you'll know who I'll be meaning?"

Tuppence shook her head.

"The name," said Mrs O'Rourke encouragingly, "begins with an S."

She nodded her head several times.

With a sudden spark of anger and an obscure impulse to spring to the defense of something young and vulnerable, Tuppence said sharply: "Sheila's just a rebel. One usually is, at that age."

Mrs O'Rourke nodded her head several times, looking just like an obese china mandarin that Tuppence remembered on her Aunt Gracie's mantelpiece. A vast smile tilted up the corners of her mouth. She said softly: "You mayn't know it, but Miss Minton's Christian name is Sophia."

"Oh!" Tuppence was taken aback. "Was it Miss Minton you meant?"

"It was not," said Mrs O'Rourke.

Tuppence turned away to the window. Queer how this old woman could affect her, spreading about her an atmosphere of unrest and fear. "Like a mouse between a cat's paws," thought Tuppence. "That's what I feel like..."

This vast smiling monumental old woman, sitting there, almost purring - and yet there was the pat-pat of paws playing with something that wasn't, in spite of the purring, to be allowed to get away...

Nonsense - all nonsense! I imagine these things, thought Tuppence, staring out of the window into the the garden. The rain had stopped. There was a gentle patter of raindrops off the trees.

Tuppence thought: "It isn't all my fancy. I'm not a fanciful person. There is something, some focus of evil here. If I could see - Her thoughts broke off abruptly.

At the bottom of the garden the bushes parted slightly. In the gap a face appeared, staring stealthily up at the house. It was the face of the foreign woman who had stood talking to Carl von Deinim in the road.

It was so still, so unblinking in its regard, that it seemed to Tuppence as though it was not human. Staring, staring up at the windows of Sans Souci. It was devoid of expression, and yet there was - yes, undoubtedly there was, menace about it. Immobile, implacable. It represented some spirit, some force, alien to Sans Souci and the commonplace ba.n.a.lity of English Guesthouse life. So, Tuppence thought, might Jael have looked, waiting to drive the nail through the forehead of sleeping Sisera.

These thoughts took only a second or two to flash through Tuppence's mind. Turning abruptly from the window, she murmured something to Mrs O'Rourke, hurried out of the room and ran downstairs and out of the front door.

Turning to the right, she ran down the side garden path to where she had seen the face. There was no one there now. Tuppence went through the shrubbery and out on to the road and looked up and down the hill. She could see no one. Where had the woman gone?

Vexed, she turned and went back into the grounds of Sans Souci. Could she have imagined the whole thing? No, the woman had been there.

Obstinately she wandered round the garden, peering behind bushes. She got very wet and found no trace of the strange woman. She retraced her steps to the house with a vague feeling of foreboding - a queer formless dread of something about to happen.

She did not guess, would never have guessed, what that something was going to be.

II.

Now that the weather had cleared, Miss Minton was dressing Betty preparatory to taking her out for a walk. They were going down to the town to buy a celluloid duck to sail in Betty's bath.

Betty was very excited and capered so violently that it was extremely difficult to insert her arms into the woolly pullover. The two set off together, Betty chattering violently: "Byaduck. Byaduck. For Bettibarf. For Bettibarf," and deriving great pleasure from a ceaseless reiteration of these important facts.

Two matches, left carelessly crossed on the marble table in the hall, informed Tuppence that Mr Meadowes was spending the afternoon on the trail of Mrs Perenna. Tuppence betook herself to the drawing room and the company of Mr and Mrs Cayley.

Mr Cayley was in a fretful mood. He had come to Leahampton, he explained, for absolute rest and quiet, and what quiet could there be with a child in the house? All day long it went on, screaming and running about, jumping up and down on the floors - His wife murmured pacifically that Betty was really a dear little mite, but the remark met with no favour.

"No doubt, no doubt," said Mr Cayley, wriggling his long neck. "But her mother should keep her quiet. There are other people to consider. Invalids, people whose nerves need repose."

Tuppence said: "It's not easy to keep a child of that age quiet. It's not natural - there would be something wrong with the child if she was quiet."

Mr Cayley gobbled angrily: "Nonsense - nonsense - this foolish modern spirit. Letting children do exactly as they please. A child should be made to sit down quietly and - and nurse a doll - or read, or something."

"She's not three yet," said Tuppence, smiling. "You can hardly expect her to be able to read."

"Well, something must be done about it. I shall speak to Mrs Perenna. The child was singing, singing in her bed before seven o'clock this morning. I had had a bad night and just dropped off towards morning - and it woke me right up."

"It's very important that Mr Cayley should get as much sleep as possible," said Mrs Cayley anxiously. "The doctor said so."

"You should go to a nursing home," said Tuppence.

"My dear lady, such places are ruinously expensive and besides it's not the right atmosphere. There is a suggestion of illness that reacts unfavourably on my subconscious."

"Bright society, the doctor said," Mrs Cayley explained helpfully. "A normal life. He thought a guest house would be better than just taking a furnished house. Mr Cayley would not be so likely to brood, and would be stimulated by exchanging ideas with other people."

Mr Cayley's method of exchanging ideas was, so far as Tuppence could judge, a mere recital of his own ailments and symptoms and the exchange consisted in the sympathetic or unsympathetic reception of them.

Adroitly, Tuppence changed the subject.

"I wish you would tell me," she said, "of your own views on life in Germany. You told me you had travelled there a good deal in recent years. It would be interesting to have the point of view of I an experienced man of the world like yourself. I can see you are the kind of man, quite unswayed by prejudice, who could really give a clear account of conditions there."

Flattery, in Tuppence's opinion, should always be laid on with a trowel where a man was concerned. Mr Cayley rose at once to the bait.