didn't really see anyone. Then I heard a rustle around the side of the house.'
Nash nodded. 'That's right. Somebody came around the house before you. He – or she – hesitated by the window, then went on quickly – heard you, I expect.'
I apologized again. 'What's the big idea?' I asked.
Nash said:
'I'm banking on the fact that an anonymous letter writer can't stop writing letters. She may know it's dangerous, but she'll have to do it. It's like a craving for drink or drugs.'
I nodded.
'Now you see, Mr. Burton, I fancy whoever it is will want to keep the letters looking the same as much as possible. She's got the cutout pages of that book, and can go on using letters and words cut out of them. But the envelopes present a difficulty. She'll want to type them on the same machine. She can't risk using another typewriter or her own handwriting.'
'Do you really think she'll go on with the game?' I asked incredulously.
'Yes, I do. And I'll bet you anything you like she's full of confidence. They're always vain as hell, these people! Well, then, I figured out that whoever it was would come to the Institute after dark so as to get at the typewriter.'
'Miss Ginch,' I said.
'Maybe.'
'You don't know yet?'
'I don't know.'
'But you suspect?'
'Yes. But somebody's very cunning, Mr. Burton. Somebody knows all the tricks of the game.'
I could imagine some of the network that Nash had spread abroad. I had no doubt that every letter written by a suspect and posted or left by hand was immediately inspected. Sooner or later the criminal would slip up, would grow careless.
For the third time I apologized for my zealous and unwanted presence.
'Oh, well,' said Nash philosophically, 'it can't be helped. Better luck next time.'
I went out into the night. A dim figure was standing beside my car. To my astonishment I recognized Megan.
'Hullo!' she said. 'I thought this was your car. What have you been doing?'
'What are you doing is much more to the point?' I said.
'I'm out for a walk. I like walking at night. Nobody stops you and says silly things, and I like the stars, and things smell better, and everyday things look all mysterious.'
'All of that I grant you freely,' I said. 'But only cats and witches walk in the dark. They'll wonder about you at home.'
'No, they won't. They never wonder where I am or what I'm doing.'
'How are you getting on?' I asked.
'All right, I suppose.'
'Miss Holland look after you and all that?'
'Elsie's all right. She can't help being a perfect fool.'
'Unkind – but probably true,' I said. 'Hop in and I'll drive you home.'
It was not quite true that Megan was never missed. Symmington was standing on the doorstep as we drove up. He peered toward us.
'Hullo, is Megan there?'
'Yes,' I said. 'I've brought her home.'
Symmington said sharply, 'You mustn't go off like this without telling us, Megan. Miss Holland has been quite worried about you.'
Megan muttered something and went past him into the house.
Symmington sighed. 'A grown-up girl is a great responsibility with no mother to look after her. She's too old for school, I suppose.'
He looked toward me rather suspiciously. 'I suppose you took her for a drive?'
I thought it best to leave it like that.
Chapter 7
On the following day I went mad. Looking back on it, that is really the only explanation I can find.
I was due for my monthly visit to Marcus Kent… I went up by train. To my intense surprise Joanna elected to stay behind. As a rule she was eager to come and we usually stayed up for a couple of days.
This time, however, I proposed to return the same day by the evening train, but even so I was astonished at Joanna. She merely said enigmatically that she'd got plenty to do, and why spend hours in a nasty stuffy train when it was a lovely day in the country?
That, of course, was undeniable, but sounded very unlike Joanna.
She said she didn't want the car, so I was to drive it to the station and leave it parked there against my return.
The station of Lymstock is situated, for some obscure reason known to railway companies only, quite half a mile from Lymstock itself. Halfway along the road I overtook Megan shuffling along in an aimless manner. I pulled up.
'Hullo, what are you doing?'
'Just out for a walk.'
'But not what is called a good brisk walk, I gather. You were crawling along like a dispirited crab.'
'Well, I wasn't going anywhere particular.'
'Then you'd better come and see me off at the station.' I opened the door of the car and Megan jumped in.
'Where are you going?' she asked.
' London. To see my doctor.'
'Your back's not worse, is it?'
'No, it's practically all right again. I'm expecting him to be very pleased about it.'
Megan nodded.
We drew up at the station. I parked the car and went in and bought my ticket at the booking office. There were very few people on the platform and nobody I knew.
'You wouldn't like to lend me a penny, would you?' said Megan. 'Then I'd get a bit of chocolate out of the slot machine.'
'Here you are, baby,' I said, handing her the coin in question. 'Sure you wouldn't like some clear gums or some throat pastilles as well?'
'I like chocolate best,' said Megan without suspecting sarcasm.
She went off to the chocolate machine, and I looked after her with a feeling of mounting irritation.
She was wearing trodden-over shoes, and coarse unattractive stockings and a particularly shapeless jumper and skirt. I don't know why all this should have infuriated me, but it did.
I said angrily as she came back, 'Why do you wear those disgusting stockings?'
Megan looked down at them, surprised. 'What's the matter with them?'
'Everything's the matter with them. They're loathsome. And why wear a pullover like a decayed cabbage?'
'It's all right, isn't it? I've had it for years.'
'So I should imagine. And why do you -'
At this minute the train came in and interrupted my angry lecture.
I got into an empty first-class carriage, let down the window and leaned out to continue the conversation.
