a refreshing simplicity. Their furniture comprised three chairs, a table and beds. There was a cupboard in the wall that held the bare requirements of cups and plates. Hans was an excitable young man with wild blond hair that stood up all over his head. He spoke very odd English with incredible rapidity, walking up and down as he did so. Stella, his wife, was small and fair. Betty Gregg had red hair and freckles and a mischievous eye. She was, he noticed, not nearly so made-up as she had been the previous day at the Pino d’Oro.
She gave him a cocktail and said with a twinkle:
‘You’re in on the big bust-up?’
Mr Parker Pyne nodded.
‘And whose side are you on, big boy? The young lovers—or the disapproving dame?’
‘May I ask you a question?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Have you been very tactful over all this?’
‘Not at all,’ said Miss Gregg frankly. ‘But the old cat put my back up.’ (She glanced round to make sure that Basil was out of earshot) ‘That woman just makes me feel mad. She’s kept Basil tied to her apron strings all these years—that sort of thing makes a man look a fool. Basil isn’t a fool really. Then she’s so terribly pukka sahib.’
‘That’s not really such a bad thing. It’s merely “unfashionable” just at present.’
Betty Gregg gave a sudden twinkle.
‘You mean it’s like putting Chippendale chairs in the attic in Victorian days? Later you get them down again and say, “Aren’t they marvellous?”’
‘Something of the kind.’
Betty Gregg considered.
‘Perhaps you’re right. I’ll be honest. It was Basil who put my back up—being so anxious about what impression I’d make on his mother. It drove me to extremes. Even now I believe he might give me up—if his mother worked on him good and hard.’
‘He might,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘If she went about it the right way.’
‘Are you going to tell her the right way? She won’t think of it herself, you know. She’ll just go on disapproving and that won’t do the trick. But if you prompted her—’
She bit her lip—raised frank blue eyes to his.
‘I’ve heard about you, Mr Parker Pyne. You’re supposed to know something about human nature. Do you think Basil and I could make a go of it—or not?’
‘I should like an answer to three questions.’
‘Suitability test? All right, go ahead.’
‘Do you sleep with your window open or shut?’
‘Open. I like lots of air.’
‘Do you and Basil enjoy the same kind of food?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like going to bed early or late?’
‘Really, under the rose, early. At half past ten I yawn—and I secretly feel rather hearty in the mornings—but of course I daren’t admit it.’
‘You ought to suit each other very well,’ said Mr Parker Pyne.
‘Rather a superficial test.’
‘Not at all. I have known seven marriages at least, entirely wrecked, because the husband liked sitting up till midnight and the wife fell asleep at half past nine and vice versa.’
‘It’s a pity,’ said Betty, ‘that everybody can’t be happy. Basil and I, and his mother giving us her blessing.’
Mr Parker Pyne coughed.
‘I think,’ he said, ‘that that could possibly be managed.’
She looked at him doubtfully.
‘Now I wonder,’ she said, ‘if you’re double-crossing me?’
Mr Parker Pyne’s face told nothing.
To Mrs Chester he was soothing, but vague. An engagement was not marriage. He himself was going to Soller for a week. He suggested that her line of action should be non-committal. Let her appear to acquiesce.
He spent a very enjoyable week at Soller.
On his return he found that a totally unexpected development had arisen.
As he entered the Pino d’Oro the first thing he saw was Mrs Chester and Betty Gregg having tea together. Basil was not there. Mrs Chester looked haggard. Betty, too, was looking off colour. She was hardly made-up at all, and her eyelids looked as though she had been crying.
They greeted him in a friendly fashion, but neither of them mentioned Basil.
Suddenly he heard the girl beside him draw in her breath sharply as though something had hurt her. Mr Parker Pyne turned his head.
Basil Chester was coming up the steps from the sea front. With him was a girl so exotically beautiful that it quite took your breath away. She was dark and her figure was marvellous. No one could fail to notice the fact since she wore nothing but a single garment of pale blue crêpe. She was heavily made-up with ochre powder and an orange scarlet mouth—but the unguents only displayed her remarkable beauty in a more pronounced fashion. As for young Basil, he seemed unable to take his eyes from her face.
‘You’re very late, Basil,’ said his mother. ‘You were to have taken Betty to Mac’s.’
‘My fault,’ drawled the beautiful unknown. ‘We just drifted.’ She turned to Basil. ‘Angel—get me something with a kick in it!’
She tossed off her shoe and stretched out her manicured toenails which were done emerald green to match her fingernails.
She paid no attention to the two women, but she leaned a little towards Mr Parker Pyne.
‘Terrible island this,’ she said. ‘I was just dying with boredom before I met Basil. He is rather a pet!’
‘Mr Parker Pyne—Miss Ramona,’ said Mrs Chester.
The girl acknowledged the introduction with a lazy smile.
‘I guess I’ll call you Parker almost at once,’ she murmured. ‘My name’s Dolores.’
Basil returned with the drinks. Miss Ramona divided her conversation (what there was of it—it was mostly glances) between Basil and Mr Parker Pyne. Of the two women she took no notice whatever. Betty attempted once or twice to join in the conversation but the other girl merely stared at her and yawned.
Suddenly Dolores rose.
‘Guess I’ll be going along now. I’m at the other hotel. Anyone coming to see me home?’
Basil sprang up.
‘I’ll
