"But why are you telling me this?" she asked, sounding both perplexed and anxious. "Do you imagine for one moment that I shan't go to the police?"

"You've told them so many lies, they'll never believe you," he replied off-handedly.

"Oh yes, they will."

"Besides," Jeremy continued, advancing upon her, "you're not going to get the chance. Do you think that when I've killed two people I shall worry about killing a third?"

He gripped Clarissa by the throat, and she screamed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

CLARISSA'S SCREAM was answered immediately. Sir Rowland came in swiftly from the hall, switching on the wall-brackets as he did so, while Constable Jones rushed into the room through the French windows, and the Inspector hurried in from the library.

The Inspector grabbed Jeremy. "All right, Warrender. We've heard it all, thank you," he announced. "And that's just the evidence we need," he added. "Give me that envelope."

Clarissa backed behind the sofa, holding her throat, and Jeremy handed the envelope to the Inspector, observing coolly, "So it was a trap, was it? Very clever."

"Jeremy Warrender," said the Inspector, "I arrest you for the murder of Oliver Costello, and I must warn you that anything you say may be taken down and given in evidence."

"You can save your breath, Inspector." was Jeremy's smoothly uttered reply. "I'm not saying anything. It was a good gamble, but it just didn't work."

"Take him away," the Inspector instructed Constable Jones, who took Jeremy by the arm.

"What's the matter, Mr. Jones? Forgotten your handcuffs?" Jeremy asked coldly as his right arm was twisted behind his back and he was marched off through the French windows.

Shaking his head sadly, Sir Rowland watched him go, and then turned to Clarissa. "Are you all right, my dear?" he asked her anxiously.

"Yes, yes, I'm all right," Clarissa replied somewhat breathlessly.

"I never meant to expose you to this," Sir Rowland said apologetically.

She looked at him shrewdly. "You knew it was Jeremy, didn't you?" she asked.

The Inspector added his voice. "But what made you think of the stamp, sir?"

Sir Rowland approached Inspector Lord and took the envelope from him. "Well, Inspector," he began, "it rang a bell when Pippa gave me the envelope this evening. Then, when I found from Who's Who that young Warrender's employer, Sir Kenneth Thomson, was a stamp collector, my suspicion developed, and just now, when he had the impertinence to pocket the envelope under my nose, I felt it was a certainty."

He returned the envelope to the Inspector. "Take great care of this, Inspector. You'll probably find it's extremely valuable, besides being evidence."

"It's evidence, all right," replied the Inspector. "A particularly vicious young criminal is going to get his deserts." Walking across to the hall door, he continued, "However, we've still got to find the body."

"Oh, that's easy, Inspector," Clarissa a.s.sured him. "Look in the bed in the spare room."

The Inspector turned and regarded her disapprovingly. "Now, really, Mrs. Hailsham-Brown " he began.

He was interrupted by Clarissa. "Why does n.o.body ever believe me?" she cried plaintively. "It is in the spare-room bed. You go and look, Inspector. Across the bed, under the bolster. Miss Peake put it there, trying to be kind."

"Trying to be... ?" The Inspector broke off, clearly at a loss for words. He went to the door, turned, and said reproachfully, "You know, Mrs. Hailsham-Brown, you haven't made things easier for us tonight, telling us all these tall stories. I suppose you thought your husband had done it, and were lying to cover up for him. But you shouldn't do it, madam. You really shouldn't do it." With a final shake of his head, he left the room.

"Well!" Clarissa exclaimed indignantly. She turned towards the sofa. "Oh, Pippa..." she remembered.

"Better get her up to bed," Sir Rowland advised. "She'll be safe now." Gently shaking the child, Clarissa said softly, "Come on, Pippa. Ups-a-daisy. Time you were in bed."

Pippa got up, waveringly. "I'm hungry," she murmured.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you are," Clarissa a.s.sured her as she led her to the hall door. "Come on, we'll see what we can find."

"Good night, Pippa," Sir Rowland called to her, and was rewarded with a yawned "Goo' night" as Clarissa and Pippa left the room. He sat down at the bridge table and had begun to put the playing cards in their box when Hugo came in from the hall.

"G.o.d bless my soul," Hugo exclaimed. "I'd never have believed it. Young Warrender, of all people. He seemed a decent-enough young fellow. Been to a good school. Knew all the right people."

"But was quite willing to commit murder for the sake of fourteen thousand pounds," Sir Rowland observed suavely. "It happens now and then, Hugo, in every cla.s.s of society. An attractive personality, and no moral sense."

Mrs. Brown, the former Miss Peake, stuck her head around the hall door. "I thought I'd just tell you, Sir Rowland," she announced, reverting to her familiar booming voice, "I've got to go along to the police station. They want me to make a statement. They're not too pleased at the trick I played on them. I'm in for a wigging, I'm afraid."

She roared with laughter, withdrew, and slammed the door shut.

Hugo watched her go, then went over to join Sir Rowland at the bridge table. "You know, Roly, I still don't quite get it," he admitted. "Was Miss Peake Mrs. Sellon, or was Mr. Sellon Mr. Brown? Or the other way round?"

Sir Rowland was saved from having to reply by the return of the Inspector, who came into the room to pick up his cap and gloves. "We're removing the body now, gentlemen," he informed them both. He paused momentarily before adding, "Sir Rowland, would you mind advising Mrs. Hailsham-Brown that, if she tells these fancy stories to the police, one day she'll get into real trouble."

"She did actually tell you the truth once, you know, Inspector," Sir Rowland reminded him gently, "but on that occasion you simply wouldn't believe her."

The Inspector looked a trifle embarra.s.sed. "Yes... hmmm... well," he began. Then, pulling himself together, he said, "Frankly, sir, it was a bit difficult to swallow, you'll admit."

"Oh, I admit that, certainly," Sir Rowland a.s.sured him.

"Not that I blame you, sir," the Inspector went on in a confidential tone. "Mrs. Hailsham-Brown is a lady who has a very taking way with her." He shook his head reflectively, then "Well, good night, sir," he said.

"Good night, Inspector," Sir Rowland replied amiably.

"Good night, Mr. Birch," the Inspector called, backing towards the hall door.

"Good night, Inspector, and well done," Hugo responded, coming over to him and shaking hands.

"Thank you, sir," said the Inspector.

He left, and Hugo yawned. "Oh, well, I suppose I'd better be going home to bed," he announced to Sir Rowland. "Some evening, eh?"

"As you say, Hugo, some evening," Sir Rowland replied, tidying the bridge table as he spoke. "Good night."

"Good night," Hugo responded, and made his way out into the hall.

Sir Rowland left the cards and markers in a neat pile on the table, then picked up Who's Who and replaced it on the bookshelves. Clarissa came in from the hall, went over to him and put her hands on his arms. "Darling Roly," she addressed him. "What would we have done without you? You are so clever."

"And you are a very lucky young woman," he told her. "It's a good thing you didn't lose your heart to that young villain, Warrender."

Clarissa shuddered. "There was no danger of that," she replied. Then, smiling tenderly, "If I lost my heart to anybody, darling, it would be to you," she a.s.sured him.

"Now, now, none of your tricks with me," Sir Rowland warned her, laughing. "If you "

He stopped short as Henry Hailsham-Brown suddenly entered the room through the French windows, and Clarissa gave a startled exclamation. "Henry!"

"h.e.l.lo, Roly," Henry greeted his friend. "I thought you were going to the club tonight."

"Well... er... I thought I'd turn in early," was all that Sir Rowland felt capable of saying at that moment. "It's been rather a strenuous evening."

Henry looked at the bridge table. "What? Strenuous bridge?" he inquired playfully.

Sir Rowland smiled. "Bridge and... er... other things," he replied as he went to the hall door. "Good night, all."

Clarissa blew him a kiss and he blew one to her in return as he left the room. Then Clarissa turned to Henry. "Where's Kalendorff I mean, where's Mr. Jones?" she asked urgently.

Henry put his brief-case on the sofa. In a voice of weary disgust he muttered, "It's absolutely infuriating. He didn't come."

"What?" Clarissa could hardly believe her ears.

"The plane arrived with nothing but a half-baked aide-de-camp in it," Henry told her, unb.u.t.toning his overcoat as he spoke.

Clarissa helped him off with the coat, and Henry continued, "The first thing he did was to turn round and fly back again where he'd come from."

"What on earth for?"

"How do I know?" Understandably, Henry sounded somewhat on edge. "He was suspicious, it seems. Suspicious of what? Who knows?"

"But what about Sir John?" Clarissa asked as she removed Henry's hat from his head.

"That's the worst of it," he groaned. "I was too late to stop him, and he'll be arriving down here any minute now, I expect." Henry consulted his watch. "Of course, I rang up Downing Street at once from the aerodrome, but he'd already started out. Oh, the whole thing's a most ghastly fiasco."

Henry sank onto the sofa with a weary sigh, and as he did so the telephone rang. "I'll answer it," Clarissa said, crossing the room to do so. "It may be the police." She lifted the receiver.

Henry looked at her questioningly. "The police?"

"Yes, this is Copplestone Court," Clarissa was saying into the telephone. "Yes... yes, he's here." She looked across at Henry. "It's for you, darling," she told him. "It's Bindley Heath Aerodrome."

Henry rose and began to rush across to the phone, but half-way over he stopped and proceeded at a dignified walk. "h.e.l.lo," he said into the receiver.

Clarissa went out to the hall with Henry's hat and coat but returned immediately and stood behind him.

"Yes... speaking," Henry announced. "What?... Ten minutes later?... Shall I?... Yes... Yes, yes... No... No, no... You have?... I see... Yes... Right."

He replaced the receiver, shouted "Clarissa!" and then turned to find that she was right behind him. "Oh! There you are. Apparently another plane came in just ten minutes after the first, and Kalendorff was on it."

"Mr. Jones, you mean," Clarissa reminded him.

"Quite right, darling. One can't be too careful," he acknowledged. "Yes, it seems that the first plane was a kind of security precaution. Really, one can't fathom how these people's minds work. Well, anyway, they're sending... er... Mr. Jones over here now with an escort. He'll be here in about a quarter of an hour. Now then, is everything all right? Everything in order?" He looked at the bridge table. "Do get rid of those cards, will you, darling?"

Clarissa hurriedly collected the cards and markers and put them out of sight, while Henry went to the stool and picked up the sandwich plate and mousse dish with an air of great surprise. "What's on earth's this?" he wanted to know.

Rushing over to him, Clarissa seized the plate and dish. "Pippa was eating it," she explained. "I'll take it away. And I'd better go and make some more ham sandwiches."

"Not yet these chairs are all over the place." Henry's tone was slightly reproachful. "I thought you were going to have everything ready, Clarissa."

He began to fold the legs of the bridge table. "What have you been doing all the evening?" he asked her as he carried the bridge table off to the library.

Clarissa was now busy pushing chairs around. "Oh, Henry," she exclaimed, "it's been the most terribly exciting evening. You see, I came in here with some sandwiches soon after you left, and the first thing that happened was I fell over a body. There..." She pointed. "Behind the sofa."

"Yes, yes, darling," Henry muttered absent-mindedly, as he helped her push the easy chair into its usual position. "Your stories are always enchanting, but really there isn't time now."

"But, Henry, it's true," she insisted. "And that's only the beginning. The police came, and it was just one thing after another." She was beginning to babble. "There was a narcotic ring, and Miss Peake isn't Miss Peake, she's really Mrs. Brown, and Jeremy turned out to be the murderer and he was trying to steal a stamp worth fourteen thousand pounds."

"Hmm! Must have been a second Swedish yellow," Henry commented. His tone was indulgent, but he was not really listening.

"I believe that's just what it was!" Clarissa exclaimed delightedly.

"Really, the things you imagine, Clarissa," said Henry affectionately. He moved the small table, set it between the armchair and the easy chair, and flicked the crumbs off it with his handkerchief.

"But, darling, I didn't imagine it," Clarissa went on. "I couldn't have imagined half as much."

Henry put his brief-case behind a cushion on the sofa, plumped up another cushion, then made his way with a third cushion to the easy chair. Meanwhile, Clarissa continued her attempts to engage his attention. "How extraordinary it is," she observed. "All my life nothing has really happened to me, and tonight I've had the lot. Murder, police, drug addicts, invisible ink, secret writing, almost arrested for manslaughter, and very nearly murdered." She paused and looked at Henry. "You know, darling, in a way it's almost too much all in one evening."

"Do go and make that coffee, darling," Henry replied. "You can tell me all your lovely rigmarole tomorrow."

Clarissa looked exasperated. "But don't you realize, Henry," she asked him, "that I was nearly murdered this evening?"

Henry looked at his watch. "Either Sir John or Mr. Jones might arrive at any minute," he said anxiously.

"What I've been through this evening," Clarissa continued. "Oh dear, it reminds me of Sir Walter Scott."

"What does?" Henry asked vaguely as he looked around the room to make sure that everything was now in its proper place.

"My aunt made me learn it by heart," Clarissa recalled.

Henry looked at her questioningly, and she recited, "'Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive!'"

Suddenly conscious of her, Henry leaned over the armchair and put his arms around her. "My adorable spider!" he said.

Clarissa placed her arms on his shoulders. "Do you know the facts of life about spiders?" she asked him. "They eat their husbands." She scratched his neck with her fingers.

"I'm more likely to eat you," Henry replied pa.s.sionately as he kissed her.

The front-door bell suddenly rang. "Sir John!" gasped Clarissa, starting away from Henry, who exclaimed at the same time, "Mr. Jones!"