He saw a great deal of Frances.

He said: “She is the one who is able to cope with it more than the others because she is more of a realist. Her life in the East End has made her so. She can stand aloof from it and look in as an outsider—while one part of her is deeply concerned for those she loves. She says it has ruined her father’s career in one direction. He will have to leave politics, but that is not the end. In Surrey they refuse to believe the story. Everyone in that village is rallying round him. I think that must be a great consolation.”

We were talking thus as we walked along, passing the Achilles Statue and going across to Kensington Gardens, and as we were approaching the Round Pond we saw a young man coming towards us.

My heart leaped for it was Joe Cresswell.

“Joe,” I cried and ran towards him holding out my hands.

He took them, held them firmly and smiled at me.

Peter was beside us. “Joe! How good to meet you! So you are back in London.”

Joe said he was here only for a short while.

“You’re staying in St. James’s Street?”

“Yes. I steal in and out like a thief,” he said. “Though there aren’t now so many people hanging about looking at the house as though they are expecting some monster to emerge.”

“Where are you going now?” asked Peterkin.

“Aimlessly wandering … just thinking.”

“Oh, Joe,” I cried. “I’m glad we’ve seen you. We’ve thought so much about you.”

“Thanks for your letter.”

“Let’s sit down here,” said Peterkin, indicating a bench under an oak tree. “It’s easier to talk sitting.”

So we sat.

“Joe, have you any plans?” asked Peterkin.

He shook his head. “There doesn’t seem to be anything. Parliament is off as far as I’m concerned.”

“It wasn’t all that much of a safe seat,” consoled Peterkin.

“I was going to make it safe.”

“And now?”

“My father is on the board of several companies. There will be opportunities … when I am ready.”

“Oh Joe,” I said and touched his hands. He took mine and gripped it hard.

“You know,” he said, “this was a put-up job.”

“What do you mean?” asked Peterkin.

“That business with my father—it was all staged.”

“By whom?”

“That’s what I have to find out. Someone arranged the accident and that there should be a brawl and the police called in.”

“Why?”

“A man in my father’s position will always have enemies. If one of them feels strongly and has the means …”

Peterkin said: “Yes, yes,” in a soothing sort of way, and I could see that he thought he was talking wildly—as I did. Poor Joe! Both Peterkin and I had the utmost sympathy for him.

“You see, it was simply not possible for my father to have gone there for any other reason than to help that girl he believed his carriage had knocked down.”

“It wasn’t your own coachman who did it?”

“No. It would never have happened if he had been driving. It was a hired vehicle. It wasn’t always convenient to take the carriage. That’s what makes me think. I reckon it was done on purpose to trap him, and he just walked into it.”

It seemed a little far-fetched. The driver would have had to be in the conspiracy as well as the girl and the man who had made the brawl and those who sent for the police. No. I believed that Mr. Cresswell had gone into the girl’s apartment because he felt responsible, as the vehicle in which he was riding had knocked her down. What had happened was a run of bad luck.

But both Peterkin and I listened sympathetically. We knew how badly Joe must be feeling—so we let him run on.

After a while Joe said he must go. He was grateful for our sympathy, he told us, and it had done him a lot of good to talk to us.

He took my hand as we were parting, and Peterkin, perhaps feeling that there was a special understanding between us, walked on and left us together for a few seconds.

Joe said: “Annora, I want to see you alone.”

“Yes?”

“Can I come to the house? Is there a time when you would be alone there?”

I thought rapidly.

“On Wednesday,” I said. “Helena and her mother are going to the dressmaker’s. They’ll be away all the morning. I think Peterkin is going to see Frances. And Uncle Peter is never there. Come on Wednesday at ten o’clock.”

“I don’t want to see anyone else. Not the servants … no one. You understand?”

“They’re usually in the kitchen at that time. If you come at ten I’ll watch for you and let you in. No one need know. Or would you rather I met you somewhere?”

“No. I’d rather it was in the house … if we can be quite alone.”

“Wednesday then,” I said. “I’ll look out for you at ten o’clock.”

I was disturbed. I kept asking myself why Joe should want to see me alone, and the idea occurred to me that he might be going to ask me to marry him.

We had seen a great deal of each other and there had undoubtedly been a rather special rapport between us. At a time of acute distress, he might well turn to me for comfort.

And there was Rolf. I could not stop myself thinking of him. I had tried to dismiss him from my thoughts because before that memorable night I had been convinced that one day I would marry Rolf. It was a childish fantasy, of course. Hadn’t I once thought of marrying my father? But Rolf had been so much a part of my innocent childhood—though I had ceased to be innocent after that fearful night. I must stop thinking of Rolf for I could never be completely happy thinking of him because from that night had sprung all my fears and doubts. It was not only that I was disillusioned with Rolf—but with life.

I wanted to escape from those memories. It might well be that the best way to do so would be through marriage with someone else.

I had to give this serious contemplation. If Joe were to ask me and I said No, that would make him more unhappy than he already was. It seemed to my inexperienced and romantic mind that if he asked me I must therefore say Yes. I could not bear to cause him further pain; and if I became engaged to him I should be able to comfort him. It would be a way of saying, I believe in your father. I want him for my father-in-law. I was sure that it would comfort the entire family. But I wished I could stop thinking of Rolf.

I was very uneasy on that Wednesday morning. I was afraid that at the last minute Aunt Amaryllis and Helena would cancel their visit to the dressmaker’s. It was hardly likely that Uncle Peter would be in. If Peterkin decided not to go out, that would not be too bad. I could explain to him more easily.

But all went according to plan.

At ten o’clock I was at the window which looked out on to the street. Joe was waiting. I listened. The house was quiet. The servants were all in the kitchen having the snack which they had about this time. I hurried down to the door and let Joe in.

I took him to a small room which was rarely used. He looked very distraught and was pale, I noticed. He took my hand and pressed it warmly.

I said: “We are free from interruptions here. The servants won’t emerge from the kitchen for half an hour at least, and everyone else is out.”

“Thank you. Oh, thank you.” He looked around the room. “Oh, Annora. I could do with a drink.”

“Oh, yes. I’ll go and get something. It isn’t kept in this room. I won’t be long. You’ll be all right here. No one will come.”

He nodded.

I sped down to the cellar. I had to be careful because I did not want the servants to hear. They would think it so odd that I had not asked them to bring the wine. I had rarely been down here. It was dark. It was some little time before I could find what I wanted. Then I must find glasses. I must have been away for more than five minutes.

All the time I was pondering on his strange behaviour. I could not understand why he had asked so soon for wine.

There was a surprise for me when I reached the room. He was not there. Of course, he had been very nervous. Had he thought that someone was coming and made his escape?

It was all very strange.

I set down the wine and looked out on the street. There was no sign of him. It was very mysterious.

I went upstairs. No one was about. I stood listening. I thought I heard a sound from above.

Cautiously I went up the next flight of stairs. I was standing at the bottom of those steps which led to Uncle Peter’s sanctum. I looked up and to my astonishment saw that the door was open.

Uncle Peter must be home.

“Uncle Peter,” I called.

There was no answer. I went up and looked in. Joe turned to face me. He looked pale and shaken.

I cried: “What are you doing here? This room is always locked. How did you …”

“Hush,” he said.

I advanced into the room. I had never been there before. It was as I had expected it would be—an office. There was a big desk and several iron filing cabinets.

“It’s Uncle Peter’s private office,” I said.

Joe was putting some papers into his breast pocket.

“I’m ready to go now,” he said.

“You must come down at once. This door is supposed to be locked. How did you get in?”

He did not answer that. He just said: “Let’s get down.”

I said: “I don’t understand. Someone must have left the door open.”

We came silently down the stairs to the hall.

“I must go now,” he said.

“No, no, Joe,” I cried. “I want to know what you were doing in Uncle Peter’s room.”

I drew him into the little room into which I had first brought him.

I said: “You have taken something. Joe, what are you doing?”

“There was something I wanted. Understand, Annora, I have to do this. You’ll understand in time and you’ll see why.”

“But I don’t understand. How did you know the door was open?”

“It wasn’t. I opened it.”

“You … you haven’t a key. No one has a key except Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis.”

“I learned how to open locked doors. It’s an art. Someone at Frances’s place taught me how to do it. When you know how, it’s not difficult.”

“Frances’s place!”

“Yes. Someone whose profession it is to unlock doors.”

“You mean a thief … a criminal!”

“Look,” he said, “I don’t want to involve you in this, Annora.”

“But you unlocked the door. They’ll know you’ve been there.”

“I can’t relock it. They’ll just think they forgot to lock it.”

“But what did you take?”

“I can’t tell you now Annora. I must go. I have to go now … at once.”

“So you came here … just to do that?”

“I knew you’d help me. We’ve always been good friends. I knew you’d be on my side. I must go now … quickly. Goodbye, Annora.”

My first thought was that no one must know he had called. I took back the wine and the glasses. Then I went to my room.

I had thought he was going to ask me to marry him and he had come to steal something from my uncle’s study. I felt stupidly bewildered and very, very uncertain. Should I tell them? I felt a certain loyalty to Joe. And yet what of Uncle Peter?

I tried to shut out of my mind the memory of Joe standing in Uncle Peter’s room putting papers into his breast pocket. I could not stop thinking of him any more than I could of Rolf leaping over a bonfire.

I was in a terrible state of uncertainty. I simply did not know what I should do.

Helena returned full of excitement about her trousseau. I pretended to listen to her prattle and did not hear a word of it.

I expect Aunt Amaryllis thought she had failed to lock the door. She would be very upset and perhaps hastily lock it and say nothing about it. She would hate Uncle Peter to think she had been careless where his instructions were concerned.

I was quite bemused. I could not understand it. I did not want to discuss it even with Peterkin.

And then suddenly I learned what it was all about.

Following on the Cresswell case it was like another chapter in the same story.

“Corruption in High Places. Well-Known Politician in dubious Clubs Scandal”: “Exclusive story in the Gazette”: “Read all about it.”

“I should have thought,” said Aunt Amaryllis, “that everyone is tired of reading about these political scandals. I believe a lot of them are made up just to make sensational headlines and sell the papers. I shall not read it.”

But of course she did.

The Cresswell case was nothing to this.

“Mr. Peter Lansdon, the well-known politician, and the expected choice for the new Vice Enquiry, is revealed as the man behind many of the leading clubs which are the haunts of prostitutes and gamblers. This multi-millionaire, whose daughter is about to marry into one of our oldest families, has made his fortune out of vice. Documents have been brought to us to prove this. There is no doubt of their authenticity.”