If necessary buy her off.’
‘That may come very expensive.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘It seems a pity. Still there are, possibly, other ways.’
She looked a question. He shook his head.
‘I’ll make no promises—but I’ll see what I can do. I have handled that kind before. By the way, not a word to Basil—that would be fatal.’
‘Of course not.’
Mr Parker Pyne returned from the Mariposa at midnight. Mrs Chester was sitting up for him.
‘Well?’ she demanded breathlessly.
His eyes twinkled.
‘The Señorita Dolores Ramona will leave Pollensa tomorrow morning and the island tomorrow night.’
‘Oh, Mr Parker Pyne! How did you manage it?’
‘It won’t cost a cent,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. Again his eyes twinkled. ‘I rather fancied I might have a hold over her—and I was right.’
‘You are wonderful. Nina Wycherley was quite right. You must let me know—er—your fees—’
Mr Parker Pyne held up a well-manicured hand.
‘Not a penny. It has been a pleasure. I hope all will go well. Of course the boy will be very upset at first when he finds she’s disappeared and left no address. Just go easy with him for a week or two.’
‘If only Betty will forgive him—’
‘She’ll forgive him all right. They’re a nice couple. By the way, I’m leaving tomorrow, too.’
‘Oh, Mr Parker Pyne, we shall miss you.’
‘Perhaps it’s just as well I should go before that boy of yours gets infatuated with yet a third girl.’
Mr Parker Pyne leaned over the rail of the steamer and looked at the lights of Palma. Beside him stood Dolores Ramona. He was saying appreciatively:
‘A very nice piece of work, Madeleine. I’m glad I wired you to come out. It’s odd when you’re such a quiet, stay-at-home girl really.’
Madeleine de Sara, alias Dolores Ramona, alias Maggie Sayers, said primly: ‘I’m glad you’re pleased, Mr Parker Pyne. It’s been a nice little change. I think I’ll go below now and get to bed before the boat starts. I’m such a bad sailor.’
A few minutes later a hand fell on Mr Parker Pyne’s shoulder. He turned to see Basil Chester.
‘Had to come and see you off, Mr Parker Pyne, and give you Betty’s love and her and my best thanks. It was a grand stunt of yours. Betty and Mother are as thick as thieves. Seemed a shame to deceive the old darling—but she was being difficult. Anyway it’s all right now. I must just be careful to keep up the annoyance stuff a couple of days longer. We’re no end grateful to you, Betty and I.’
‘I wish you every happiness,’ said Mr Parker Pyne.
‘Thanks.’
There was a pause, then Basil said with somewhat overdone carelessness:
‘Is Miss—Miss de Sara—anywhere about? I’d like to thank her, too.’
Mr Parker Pyne shot a keen glance at him.
He said:
‘I’m afraid Miss de Sara’s gone to bed.’
‘Oh, too bad—well, perhaps I’ll see her in London sometime.’
‘As a matter of fact she is going to America on business for me almost at once.’
‘Oh!’ Basil’s tone was blank. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I’ll be getting along …’
Mr Parker Pyne smiled. On his way to his cabin he tapped on the door of Madeleine’s.
‘How are you, my dear? All right? Our young friend has been along. The usual slight attack of Madeleinitis. He’ll get over it in a day or two, but you are rather distracting.’
Joan Ashby came out of her bedroom and stood a moment on the landing outside her door. She was half turning as if to go back into the room when, below her feet as it seemed, a gong boomed out.
Immediately Joan started forward almost at a run. So great was her hurry that at the top of the big staircase she collided with a young man arriving from the opposite direction.
‘Hullo, Joan! Why the wild hurry?’
‘Sorry, Harry. I didn’t see you.’
‘So I gathered,’ said Harry Dalehouse dryly. ‘But as I say, why the wild haste?’
‘It was the gong.’
‘I know. But it’s only the first gong.’
‘No, it’s the second.’
‘First.’
‘Second.’
Thus arguing they had been descending the stairs. They were now in the hall, where the butler, having replaced the gongstick, was advancing toward them at a grave and dignified pace.
‘It is the second,’ persisted Joan. ‘I know it is. Well, for one thing, look at the time.’
Harry Dalehouse glanced up at the grandfather clock.
‘Just twelve minutes past eight,’ he remarked. ‘Joan, I believe you’re right, but I never heard the first one. Digby,’ he addressed the butler, ‘is this the first gong or the second?’
‘The first, sir.’
‘At twelve minutes past eight? Digby, somebody will get the sack for this.’
A faint smile showed for a minute on the butler’s face.
‘Dinner is being served ten minutes later tonight, sir. The master’s orders.’
‘Incredible!’ cried Harry Dalehouse. ‘Tut, tut! Upon my word, things are coming to a pretty pass! Wonders will never cease. What ails my revered uncle?’
‘The seven o’clock train, sir, was half an hour late, and as—’ The butler broke off, as a sound like the crack of a whip was heard.
‘What on earth—’ said Harry. ‘Why, that sounded exactly like a shot.’
A dark, handsome man of thirty-five came out of the drawing room on their left.
