I don't know how long we were like that—he holding my hand, myself making a half-hearted effort to break away from him while he watched me with a rather mischievous smile, as though he could read my thoughts and, moreover, knew my vulnerability.

"Please sit down," he said. "We obviously have a great deal to say to each other."

I sat down. I said: "In the first place, you know who I am. My sister and I lived at Greystone Manor until she went to this unfortunate ball."

"Where she met her lover."

"She had met him before and the Grafin invited her. It wasn't easy. Do not imagine that we at Greystone Manor thought it such an honour. My sister had to go to all sorts of subterfuge in order to attend that ball."

"Deceit?" he asked.

"You are determined to be offensive."

"Certainly not. But I must insist that if we are to discover anything we must look facts straight in the face. Your sister slipped out of the house in her ball gown and went to the Grange. Her family—with the exception of her little sister who was in on the secret—knew nothing about it. Is that right?"

"Yes ... more or less."

"And there she and the Baron fell in love. They eloped. She travelled as his wife ... to placate conventions."

"She was his wife."

"Now we are right back at the beginning. The marriage could not have taken place."

"But it did. I know it did."

"Let me explain to you. Rudolph's country is a small one. It is always fighting to preserve its autonomy. That is why there must be no stepping aside from conventions. There are neighbouring states always casting greedy eyes on it, always seeking to aggrandize themselves, to make themselves more powerful. One day they will all band together into one state and that will doubtless be a good thing, but at the moment there are these petty states—dukedoms, margravates, principalities, and so on; Bruxenstein is one of them. Rudolph's father is an old man. Rudolph was his only son. He was to marry the daughter of a ruler of a neighbouring state. He would never have made this mesalliance. Too much was at stake."

"Nevertheless he did."

"Do you really believe that possible?"

"Yes. He was in love."

"Very charming, but love is a different thing from politics and duty. The lives of thousands are involved. ... It is the difference between war and peace."

"He must have loved my sister dearly. I can understand. She was the most attractive person I have ever met. Oh, I can see you are cynical. You don't believe me."

"I believe she was all you say she was. I have seen her sister and that makes it easy to imagine."

"You are laughing at me. I know that I am plain and quite unlike Francine."

He took my hand and kissed it. "You must not think that," he said. "I am sure you have as much charm as your sister but perhaps in a different way."

Once again I firmly removed my hand. "You must not tease me," I said. "You don't want to talk of this, do you?"

"There is nothing really to say. Your sister and Rudolph were murdered in the hunting lodge. It was a political murder, in my view. It was someone who wanted the heir out of the way."

"Well, who would inherit this dukedom ... or principality ... or whatever it is? Perhaps he is the murderer."

"It's not as simple as that. The next in line was not in the country at the time."

"Well, those sort of people have agents, don't they?"

"There was a thorough investigation."

"It could not have been so very thorough. I expect they are not very efficient in that little place."

He laughed. "They are, you know. There was a detailed enquiry but nothing could be brought to light."

"I suppose my sister was killed because she happened to be there."

"It looks like it. I am so sorry. What a pity she ever left Greystone Manor."

"If she hadn't, she might have been married to Cousin Arthur ... but she never would have done that."

"So ... there was another suitor."

"My grandfather wanted the match. I suppose it is rather like your Bruxenstein. He hasn't a dukedom or a principality, but he has a fine old house which has been in the family for generations and he is very rich, I believe."

"So you have the same problems as we have in Bruxenstein."

"Problems created by people's pride. There should be no problems at all. No-one should attempt to choose people's husbands for them. If people love, they should be allowed to marry."

"Well spoken," he cried. "Do you know, we have at last found agreement."

I said, "I shall have to go now. Miss Elton will be looking for me."

"Who is Miss Elton?"

"My governess. She is leaving very shortly. I am considered to be no longer in need of one."

"Almost a woman," he commented.

He was beside me and he laid his hands on my shoulders.

I wished he would not touch me; when he did so an incomprehensible desire to stay with him came to me. It was the opposite effect of that which Arthur's flabby hands had on me, but it did occur to me that they both had a habit of using them a good deal.

He drew me to him and kissed me very lightly on the forehead.

"Why did you do that?" I demanded, hastily drawing back and flushing scarlet.

"Because I wanted to."

"People do not kiss strangers."

"We are hardly that. We have met before. We have drunk tea together. I thought that was an English ceremony. If you take tea you are immediately friends."

"You obviously know nothing of English ceremonies. One can take tea with one's bitterest enemies."

"Then I misjudged the situation and you will forgive me."

"I forgive you for that but not for your attitude towards my sister. I know she was married. I have evidence that she was, but it is no use trying to convince you so I will not attempt to do so."

"Evidence?" he said sharply. "What evidence?"

"Letters. Her letters, for one thing."

"Letters to you? In which she insists she was married."

"She didn't insist. She didn't have to. She only had to tell me.

"May I see ... these letters?"

I hesitated.

"You have to convince me, you know."

"All right then... ."

"Shall we meet here ... or would you care to come to the Grange?"

"Here," I answered.

"Tomorrow I shall be here."

I ran out of the wood. When I reached the edge of it I looked back and saw him standing among the trees. There was a strange smile on his lips.

I was in a bemused state for the rest of the day. Miss Elton, who was in the midst of packing, did not notice my abstraction. She would be leaving in a few days and I knew that she was anxious about me, but could really see no practical way out of my difficulties. I wondered whether to tell my grandmother about this man, but for some reason I was reluctant to do so. I did not even know his name. He was over-familiar. How dared he kiss me! What did he think? That all girls here could be lightly kissed and engaged in intimate relationships without marriage?

I stayed up late that night reading the letters. It was all so clear: her ecstasy and her marriage. Hadn't I seen the entry in the register? I should have told that man about this piece of irrefutable evidence. Why hadn't I? Perhaps I had deliberately held it back so that when I did tell him and prove him to be wrong he would be made to feel very humble indeed. Of course Francine had been married. There was her talk of the baby—dear little Cubby. Even suppose she had told me of the marriage because she thought she ought to be, she would never have invented the child. Francine was not the most maternal of women, I was sure; but once she had a child she had loved him and that came over in the letters.

The next day I was early at our meeting place but he was already there.

My heart started to beat faster at the sight of him. I wished that he did not have this effect on me because it made me feel at a disadvantage. He came forward; he bowed, I thought with a certain mockery, and clicking his heels took my hand and kissed it.

"There is no need to stand on ceremony with me," I said.

"Ceremony! This is no ceremony. An ordinary form of greeting in my country. Of course, with elderly ladies and children we often kiss the cheek instead of the hand."

"As I am neither you can at least dispense with that."

"Somewhat regrettably," he said.

But I was determined that I would not allow this rather offensive bantering to intrude on the seriousness of the occasion.

"I have brought the letters to show you," I said. "When you read them you will accept the truth. You will have to."

"Shall we sit down. The ground is a little hard and this is not the most comfortable place for a consultation. You should have come to the house."

"I hardly think that would be right while your employers are away."

"Perhaps not," he said. "Now ... may I see the letters?"

He took them and began to read them.

I watched him. I suppose it was that excessive masculinity which was affecting. It must have been something like that which happened to Francine. Oh no, that was absurd. She had fallen violently in love. My feelings were quite different. I felt antagonistic towards this man, although I was intensely excited in his presence. I had known few men. One could not count Antonio and the people on the island. I had been far too young then. But few people came to my grandfather's house and I supposed I judged everyone by Cousin Arthur, which meant that they all must seem devastatingly attractive.

I started suddenly. I had the feeling that we were being overlooked. I turned sharply. Did I see a movement among the trees? It must have been imagination. I was in a state of excitement, I realized that. I had been ever since I had met this man ... solely because I thought I had fitted in a few more pieces in the jigsaw of mystery concerning the murder in the hunting lodge. A crackle of dry bracken, the sudden flutter of a bird as though it had been disturbed had given me this strange uncanny feeling of being overlooked.

"I fancy someone is nearby watching us," I said.

"Watching us? Why?"

"People do... ."

He put down the letters and sprang to his feet. "Where?" he cried. "In which direction?" I was sure then that I heard the sound of hastening footsteps.

"Over there," I said, and he ran off in the direction I had indicated. After a few minutes he came back.

"No sign of anyone," he said.

"Yet, I was sure ..."

He smiled at me and, sitting down, picked up the letters. When he had read them he handed them back solemnly to me.

"Your sister thought she would set your mind at rest by telling you she was married."

Now was the moment. "There is something you don't know," I told him triumphantly. "I have definite proof. I have seen the church register."

"What!" That moment had been worth waiting for. He was completely taken aback.

"Oh yes," I went on. "It is there as plain as it could be. So you see you have been absolutely wrong."

"Where?" he asked tersely.

"In Birley Church. Miss Elton and I went to look for it and found it."

"I cannot credit Rudolph for behaving so ..."

"It is not for you to credit or discredit. The marriage took place. I can prove it."

"Why did you not tell me before?"

"Because you were so pigheadedly cocksure."

"I see," he said slowly. "Where is this place?"

"At Birley, not far from Dover. You should go there. See it with your own eyes ... then perhaps you'll believe it."

"Very well," he said. "I will."

"You can take the train to Dover. It is quite simple. You can get a horse and trap to take you out to Birley. It's about three miles from Dover."

"I will most certainly go."

"And when you have seen it you will come back and apologize to me."

"Abjectly."

He folded up the letters and began, as though absentmindedly, to put them in his pocket.

"They are mine, remember."

"So they are." He gave them back to me.

I said: "I don't know your name."

"Conrad," he told me.

"Conrad ... what?"

"Don't bother with the rest. You would find it unpronounceable."

"I might be able to manage it."

"Never mind now. I should like to be just Conrad to you."

"When will you go to Birley, Conrad?"