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Miss Brent’s lips set closely. She would like to make an example of certain people.

She remembered last year’s summer holiday. This year, however, it would be quite different. Soldier Island…

Mentally she re-read the letter which she had already read so many times.

‘Dear Miss Brent,

I do hope you remember me? We were together at Belhaven Guest House in August some years ago, and we seemed to have so much in common.

I am starting a guest house of my own on an island off the coast of Devon. I think there is really an opening for a place where there is good plain cooking and a nice old-fashioned type of person. None of this nudity and gramophones half the night. I shall be very glad if you could see your way to spending your summer holiday on Soldier Island—quite free—as my guest. Would early in August suit you? Perhaps the 8th.

Yours sincerely,

U.N.O—

What was the name? The signature was rather difficult to read. Emily Brent thought impatiently: ‘So many people write their signatures quite illegibly.’

She let her mind run back over the people at Belhaven. She had been there two summers running. There had been that nice middle-aged woman—Miss—Miss—now what was her name?—her father had been a Canon. And there had been a Mrs Olton—Ormen—No, surely it was Oliver! Yes,—Oliver.

Soldier Island! There had been things in the paper about Soldier Island—something about a film star—or was it an American millionaire?

Of course often those places went very cheap—islands didn’t suit everybody. They thought the idea was romantic but when they came to live there they realised the disadvantages and were only too glad to sell.

Emily Brent thought to herself: ‘I shall be getting a free holiday at any rate.’

With her income so much reduced and so many dividends not being paid, that was indeed something to take into consideration. If only she could remember a little more about Mrs—or was it Miss—Oliver?

V

General Macarthur looked out of the carriage window. The train was just coming into Exeter, where he had to change. Damnable, these slow branch line trains! This place, Soldier Island, was really no distance at all as the crow flies.

He hadn’t got it clear who this fellow Owen was. A friend of Spoof Leggard’s, apparently—and of Johnnie Dyer’s.

‘—One or two of your old cronies are coming—would like to have a talk over old times.’

Well, he’d enjoy a chat about old times. He’d had a fancy lately that fellows were rather fighting shy of him. All owing to that damned rumour! By God, it was pretty hard—nearly thirty years ago now! Armitage had talked, he supposed. Damned young pup! What did he know about it? Oh, well, no good brooding about these things! One fancied things sometimes—fancied a fellow was looking at you queerly.