"Don't worry your head, Seraph," I said. "We'll find a way out. You've got to be quiet and get well."

"But what are you going to do?"

"I've no idea," I answered blankly.

The Seraph sighed and lifted his feet wearily on to the seat opposite.

"You played that last hand well, Toby. I'm afraid you'll have to go on playing without any support from me. I'm dummy, I'm only good for two possible tricks."

I waited to see the hand exposed.

"I can't find Mavis," he went on. "You see that?"

"I do."

"You must ask Joyce to tell you. She spoke a few words this morning, and she's getting stronger. If she refuses ... but she won't if you ask her."

"If she does?"

"You must go on bluffing Nigel. He doesn't know who's in the flat, and old Roden doesn't know either. They'd have searched three days ago, they'd have arrested us to-day on suspicion if they hadn't been afraid of making fools of themselves. Keep bluffing, Toby. The keener you are to get the search over and done with, the more they'll be afraid of a mare's nest." The words trailed off in a sigh. "If there's anything I can do I'll do it, but I'm afraid you'll find me pretty useless."

"You're going quietly to bed for forty-eight hours," I told him.

He raised no protest, and I heard him murmur, "Saturday night. Sunday night. Monday night. It'll be all over then, one way or the other."

On reaching the flat I carried him upstairs, ordered some soup, and smoked a cigarette in the hall. Maybury-Reynardson was completing his evening inspection, and when he came out I asked for the bulletin.

"It's in the right direction," he told me, "but very, very slow. The mind's working back to normal whenever she wakes, and she's been talking a little. I'm afraid you must go on being patient."

"Could she answer a question?"

"You mustn't ask any."

"I'm afraid it's absolutely necessary."

"What d'you want to know?"

"The police will search this flat on Monday if we don't find out before then where Miss Rawnsley was taken to when she disappeared."

Maybury-Reynardson shook his head.

"You mustn't think of bothering her with questions of that kind. If you did, I don't suppose she could help you."

"But you said the mind was normal?"

"Working back to normal. Everything's there, but she can't put it in order. The memory larder is full, but her hands are too weak to lift things down from the shelves."

"It's a matter of life and death," I urged.

"If it was a matter of eternal salvation I doubt if she could help you. Do you dream? Well, could you piece together the fragments of all you dreamt last night? You might have done so a moment after waking, little pieces may come back to you when some one suggests the right train of thought. That's Miss Davenant's condition. To change the parallel, her eyes can see, but they see 'through a glass darkly.'"

I thought the matter over while he was examining and prescribing for the Seraph.

"We're in a tight corner, Seraph," I said when he had gone. "I don't see any other way out, I'm going to take the responsibility of disobeying him."

He offered no suggestion, and I walked to the door of Joyce's room and put my fingers to the handle. Then I came back and made him open his eyes and listen to me.

"I'll take the blame," I said; "but will you see if you can make her understand? She's known you longer."

It was not the true reason. When I reached the door I was smitten with the fear that she would not recognise me, and my nerve failed.

We explained our intentions to a reluctant nurse; I fidgeted outside in the hall and heard the Seraph walk up to the bedside and ask Joyce how she was.

"I'm better, thanks," she answered. "Let me see, do I know you?" There was a weak laugh. "I should like to be friends with you, you've got such nice eyes."

The Seraph took her hand and asked if she knew any one named Mavis Rawnsley.

"Oh, yes, I know her. Her father's the Prime Minister. Mavis, yes, I know her."

"Do you know where she is?"

"Mavis Rawnsley? She was at the theatre last night. What theatre was it? She was in the stalls, and I was in a box. Who else was there?

Were you? She was with her mother. Where is she now? Yes, I know Miss Rawnsley well."

"Do you know where she is now?"

"I expect she's at the theatre."

She closed her eyes, and the Seraph came back to the door, shaking his head. I tiptoed into the room, looked round the screen and watched Joyce smiling in her sleep. As I looked, her eyes opened and met mine.

"Why, I know you!" she exclaimed. "You're my husband. You took me to the theatre last night, when we saw Mavis Rawnsley. We were in a box, and she was in the stalls. Some one wanted to know where Mavis was.

Tell them we saw her at the theatre, will you?"

She held out her hand to me; I bent down, kissed her forehead, and crept out of the room. The Seraph was lying on the bed we had made up for him in my room. I helped him to undress, and retired to the library with a cigar--to forget Joyce and plan the bluffing of Nigel.

My first act was to get into communication with Paddy Culling on the telephone.

"Will you do me another favour?" I began. "Well, it's this. I want you to get hold of Nigel and take him to lunch or dine to-morrow--Sunday--at the Club. Let me know which, and the time. When you've finished eating, lead him away to a quiet corner--the North Smoking Room or the Strangers' Card Room. Hold him in conversation till I come. I shall drop in accidentally, and start pulling his leg. You can help, but do it in moderation; we mustn't make him savage--only uncomfortable. You understand? Right."

Then I went to bed.

On Sunday morning I started out in the direction of Chester Square, and made two discoveries on the way. The first was that our house was being unceasingly watched by a tall Yorkshireman in plain clothes and regulation boots; the second, that the Yorkshireman was in his turn being intermittently watched by Nigel Rawnsley. His opinion of the Criminal Investigation Department must have been as low--if not as kindly--as my own. On two more occasions that day I found him engaged on a flying visit of inspection--to keep Scotland Yard up to the Rawnsley mark and answer the eternal question that Juvenal propounded and Michael Roden amended for his own benefit and mine at Henley.

Elsie received me with anxious enquiries after her sister. I gave a full report, propounded my plan of campaign, and was rewarded by being shown the extensive and beautiful contents of her wardrobe. I should never have believed one woman could accumulate so many clothes; there seemed a dress for every day and evening of the year, and she could have worn a fresh hat each hour without repeating herself. My own rule is to have one suit I can wear in a bad light, and four that I cannot.

With hats the practice is even simpler; I flaunt a new one until it is stolen, and then wear the changeling until a substitute of even greater seediness has been supplied. My instincts are conservative, and my hats more symbolical than decorative; for me they typify the great, sad law that every change is a change for the worse.

My only complaint against Elsie was that her wardrobe contained too much of what university authorities would call the "subfuse" element.

The most conspicuous garments I could find were a white coat and skirt, white stockings and shoes, black hat and veil, and heliotrope dust coat. I am no judge whether they looked well in combination, but I challenge the purblind to say they were inconspicuous. To my eyes the _tout ensemble_ was so striking that I laid them on a chair and gazed in wondering admiration until it was time to call up Gartside and warn him that I stood in need of luncheon.