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Vera said:

‘One has got to trust someone… As a matter of fact I think you’re wrong about Blore. I still think it’s Armstrong.’

She turned to him suddenly:

‘Don’t you feel—all the time—that there’s someone. Someone watching and waiting?’

Lombard said slowly:

‘That’s just nerves.’

Vera said eagerly:

‘Then you have felt it?’

She shivered. She bent a little closer.

‘Tell me—you don’t think—’ she broke off, went on: ‘I read a story once—about two judges that came to a small American town—from the Supreme Court. They administered justice—Absolute Justice. Because—they didn’t come from this world at all…

Lombard raised his eyebrows.

He said:

‘Heavenly visitants, eh? No, I don’t believe in the supernatural. This business is human enough.’

Vera said in a low voice:

‘Sometimes—I’m not sure…’

Lombard looked at her. He said:

‘That’s conscience…’ After a moment’s silence he said very quietly: ‘So you did drown that kid after all?’

Vera said vehemently:

‘I didn’t! I didn’t! You’ve no right to say that!’

He laughed easily.

‘Oh yes, you did, my good girl! I don’t know why. Can’t imagine. There was a man in it probably. Was that it?’

A sudden feeling of lassitude, of intense weariness, spread over Vera’s limbs. She said in a dull voice:

‘Yes—there was a man in it…’

Lombard said softly:

‘Thanks. That’s what I wanted to know…’

Vera sat up suddenly. She exclaimed:

‘What was that? It wasn’t an earthquake?’

Lombard said:

‘No, no. Queer, though—a thud shook the ground. And

I thought—did you hear a sort of cry? I did.’

They stared up at the house.

Lombard said:

‘It came from there. We’d better go up and see.’

‘No, no, I’m not going.’

‘Please yourself. I am.’

Vera said desperately:

‘All right. I’ll come with you.’

They walked up the slope to the house. The terrace was peaceful and innocuous-looking in the sunshine. They hesitated there a minute, then instead of entering by the front door, they made a cautious circuit of the house.

They found Blore. He was spreadeagled on the stone terrace on the east side, his head crushed and mangled by a great block of white marble.

Philip looked up. He said:

‘Whose is that window just above?’

Vera said in a low shuddering voice:

‘It’s mine—and that’s the clock from my mantelpiece… I remember now. It was—shaped like a bear.’

She repeated and her voice shook and quavered:

‘It was shaped like a bear…’

Ill

Philip grasped her shoulder.

He said, and his voice was urgent and grim:

‘This settles it. Armstrong is in hiding somewhere in that house. I’m going to get him.’

But Vera clung to him. She cried:

‘Don’t be a fool. It’s us now! We’re next! He wants us to look for him! He’s counting on it!’

Philip stopped. He said thoughtfully:

‘There’s something in that.’

Vera cried:

‘At any rate you do admit now I was right.’

He nodded.

‘Yes—you win! It’s Armstrong all right. But where the devil did he hide himself? We went over the place with a fine-tooth comb.’

Vera said urgently:

‘If you didn’t find him last night, you won’t find him now… That’s common sense.’

Lombard said reluctantly: