of one interesting example.'
'Oh, do,' said Kay — 'I like murders.'
Mr. Treves spoke slowly, apparently choosing his words with great deliberation and care.
'The case concerned a child. I will not mention that child's age or sex. The facts were as follows: Two children were playing with bows and arrows. One child sent an arrow through the other child in a vital spot and death resulted. There was an inquest, the surviving child was completely distraught and the accident was commiserated and sympathy expressed for the unhappy author of the deed.' He paused.
'Was that all?' asked Ted Latimer.
'That was all. A regrettable accident. But there is, you see, another side to the story. A farmer, some time previously, happened to have passed up a certain path in a wood nearby. There, in a little clearing, be had noticed a child practising with a bow and arrow.'
He paused — to let his meaning sink in.
'You mean,' said Mary Aldin incredulously, 'that it was not an accident — that it was intentional?'
'I don't know,' said Mr. Treves. 'I have never known. It was stated at the inquest that the children were unused to bows and arrows and in consequence shot wildly and ignorantly.'
'And that was not so?'
'That, in the case of one of the children, was certainly not so!'
'What did the farmer do?' said Audrey breathlessly.
'He did nothing. Whether he acted rightly or not, I have never been sure. It was the future of a child that was at stake. A child, he felt, ought to be given the benefit of a doubt.'
Audrey said: 'But you yourself have no doubt about what really happened?'
Mr. Treves said gravely: 'Personally, I am of opinion that it was a particularly ingenious murder — a murder committed by a child and planned down to every detail beforehand.'
Ted Latimer asked: 'Was there a reason?'
'Oh, yes, there was a motive. Childish teasings, unkind words — enough to foment hatred. Children hate easily — '
Mary exclaimed: 'But the deliberation of it!' Mr. Treves nodded.
'Yes, the deliberation of it was bad. A child, keeping that murderous intention in its heart, quietly practising day after day and then the final piece of acting, the awkward shooting — the catastrophe, the pretence of grief and despair. It was all incredible — so incredible that probably it would not have been believed in court.'
'What happened to — to the child?' asked Kay curiously.
'Its name was changed, I believe,' said Mr. Treves.
'After the publicity of the inquest that was deemed advisable. That child is a grown-up person to-day — somewhere in the world. The question is, has it still got a murderer's heart?'
He added thoughtfully: 'It is a long time ago, but I would recognise my little murderer anywhere.'
'Surely not,' objected Royde.
'Oh, yes, there was a certain physical peculiarity — well, I will not dwell on the subject. It is not a very pleasant one. I must really be on my way home.'
He rose.
Mary said: 'You will have a drink first?'
The drinks were on a table at the other end of the room. Thomas Royde, who was near them, stepped forward and took the stopper out of the whisky decanter.
'A whisky and soda, Mr. Treves? Latimer, what about you?'
Nevile said to Audrey in a low voice: 'It's a lovely evening. Come out for a little.'
She had been standing by the window looking out at the moonlit terrace. He stepped past her and stood outside, waiting. She turned back into the room, shaking her head quickly.
'No, I'm tired. I — I think I'll go to bed.'
She crossed the room and went out. Kay gave a wide yawn.
'I'm sleepy, too. What about you, Mary?'
'Yes, I think so. Good night, Mr. Treves. Look after Mr. Treves, Thomas.'
'Good night. Miss Aldin. Good night, Mrs. Strange.'
'We'll be over for lunch to-morrow, Ted,' said Kay. 'We could bathe if it's still like this.'
'Right. I'll be looking for you. Good night, Miss Aldin.'
The two women left the room.
Ted Latimer said agreeably to Mr. Treves: 'I'm coming your way, sir. Down to the ferry, so I, pass the hotel.'
'Thank you, Mr. Latimer. I shall be glad of your escort.'
Mr. Treves, although he had declared his intention of departing, seemed in no hurry. He sipped his drink with pleasant deliberation and devoted himself to the task of extracting information from Thomas Royde as to the conditions of life in Malaya .
Royde was monosyllabic in his answers. The everyday details of existence might have been secrets of national importance from the difficulty with which they were dragged from him. He seemed to be lost in some abstraction of his own, out of which he roused himself with difficulty to reply to his questioner.
Ted Latimer fidgeted. He looked bored, impatient, anxious to be gone.
Suddenly interrupting, he exclaimed: 'I nearly forgot. I brought Kay over some gramophone records she wanted. They're in the hall. I'll get them. Will you tell her about them to-morrow, Royde?'
The other man nodded. Ted left the room.
'That young man has a restless nature,' murmured Mr. Treves.
Royde grunted without replying.
'A friend, I think, of Mrs. Strange's?' pursued the old lawyer.
'Of Kay Strange's,' said Thomas.
Mr. Treves smiled.
'Yes,' he said. 'I meant that. He would be a friend of the first Mrs. Strange.'
Royde said emphatically: 'No, he wouldn't.'
Then, catching the other's quizzical eye, he said, flushing a little, 'What I mean is—“
'Oh, I quite understand what you meant, Mr. Royde. You yourself are a friend of Mrs. Audrey Strange, are you not?'
Thomas Royde slowly filled his pipe from his tobacco pouch. His eyes bent to his task, he said, or rather mumbled: 'M — yes. More or less brought up together.'
'She must have been a very charming young girl?'
Thomas Royde said something that sounded like 'Um — yum.'
'A little awkward having two Mrs. Stranges in the house?'
'Oh, yes — yes, rather.'
'A difficult position for the original Mrs. Strange.'
Thomas Royde's face flushed.
'Extremely difficult.'
Mr. Treves leaned forward. His question popped out sharply.
'Why did she come, Mr. Royde?'
'Well — I suppose — ' the other's voice was indistinct 'she — didn't like to refuse.'
'To refuse whom?'
Royde shifted awkwardly.
'Well, as a matter of fact, I believe she always comes this time of year — beginning of September.'
'And Lady Tressilian asked Nevile Strange and his new wife at the same time?' The old gentleman's voice held a nice note of polite incredulity.
'As to that, I believe Nevile asked himself.'
'He was anxious, then, for this — reunion?'
Royde shifted uneasily. He replied, avoiding the other's eye: 'I suppose so.'
'Curious,' said Mr. Treves.
'Stupid sort of thing to do,' said Thomas Royde, goaded into longer speech.
