Hersey Amblington and Chloris did not stay long with the party in the library. They went upstairs to visit, severally, Mrs. Compline and Madame Lisse. Jonathan had suggested this move to Hersey.

“I’ll go and see how Sandra’s getting on, with the greatest of pleasure,” Hersey said. “I was going to do so in any case. But I must say, Jo, I don’t think the Pirate would welcome my solicitude. What’s supposed to be the matter with her?”

“A sick headache,” said Jonathan. “The migraine.”

“Well, the sight of me won’t improve it. Damn the woman, what business has she to throw a migraine?”

“Naturally,” Nicholas said, “she’s upset.”

“Why? Because she’s afraid her face-lifting friend will make another pass at you? Or because she’s all shocked and horrified that we should suspect him? Which?”

Nicholas looked furious but made no rejoinder.

“Would I be any use?” asked Chloris. “I don’t mind casting an eye at her.”

“Good girl,” said Hersey. “Come on.” And they went upstairs together.

Hersey found Mrs. Compline sitting by her fire still wearing the dress into which she had changed for dinner.

“I ought to have come down, Hersey. It’s too cowardly and difficult of me to hide like this. But I couldn’t face it. Now that they all know! Imagine how they would avoid looking at me. I thought I had become hardened to it. For twenty years I’ve drilled myself, and now, when this happens, I am as raw as I was on the day I first let Nicholas look at me. Hersey, if you had seen him that day! He was only a tiny boy, but he — I thought he would never come to me again. He looked at me as though I was a stranger. It took so long to get him back.”

“And William?” Hersey asked, abruptly.

“William? Oh, he was older, of course, and not so sensitive. He seemed very shocked for a moment and then he began to talk as if nothing had happened. I’ve never understood William. Nicky was just a baby, of course. He asked me what had happened to my pretty face. William never spoke of it. After a little while I think Nicky forgot I had ever had a pretty face.”

“And William, it seems, never forgot.”

“He was older.”

“I think he’s more sensitive.”

“You don’t understand Nicky. I see it all so plainly. He has got to know this Madame Lisse and of course she has thrown herself at his head. Women have always done that with Nicky. I’ve seen it over and over again.”

“He doesn’t exactly discourage them, Sandra.”

“He is naughty, I know,” admitted Mrs. Compline, dotingly. “He always tells me all about them. We have such laughs together sometimes. Evidently there was something between Madame Lisse and — that man. And then when she met Nicholas, of course, she lost her heart to him. I’ve been thinking it out. That man must have recognized me. His own handiwork! Twenty years haven’t changed it much. I suppose he was horrified and rushed to her with the story. She, hoping to establish a deeper bond between herself and Nicky, told him all about it.”

“Now, Sandra, Nicholas himself denies this.”

“Of course he does, darling,” said Mrs. Compline rapidly. “That’s what I’ve been trying to explain — you don’t understand him. He wanted to spare me. It was for my sake he threatened this man. It’s because of what Hartz did to me. But to spare me he let it be thought that it was some ridiculous affair over this woman.”

“That seems very far-fetched to me,” said Hersey bluntly.

A dull flush mounted in Mrs. Compline’s face. “Why,” she said, “the woman is on her knees to him already. He has no cause to trouble himself about this Madame Lisse. It’s Dr. Hart who’s troubling himself.”

“But why?”

“Because he has found out that Nicholas knows his real identity and is afraid of exposure. Hersey, I’ve made William promise that he won’t leave Nicholas. I want you to do something for me. I want you to send them both up here. I’m terrified for Nicky.”

“But if, as you seem to think, Hart’s afraid of exposure, there wouldn’t be any point in his attacking Nick. He’d have to polish off the lot of us. We all know, now.”

But Hersey was up against an inflexible determination, and she saw that Sandra Compline would accept no explanation that did not show Nicholas in a heroic light. Nicholas must be upheld as the pink of courtesy, the wooed but never the wooer, the son who placed his mother above all women — a cross between a Hollywood ace and a filial Galahad. She argued no more but tried to convince Mrs. Compline that, however dangerously Hart might have threatened Nicholas, he would attempt no more assaults since he now realized that they all suspected him. She left, promising to send the two sons to their mother, and returned to the library.

Chloris found Madame Lisse extremely difficult. For one thing she made not the smallest effort to conceal her boredom when, after tapping at the door, Chloris came into her room. It was impossible to escape the inference that she had expected someone else. When she saw Chloris, in some subtle way she sagged. “As if,” thought Chloris, “she unhooked her mental stays.” She was in bed, most decoratively. There was a general impression of masses of tawny lace from which Madame Lisse emerged in pallor and smoothness. “She is lovely,” thought Chloris, “but I believe she’s bad-tempered.” Aloud she said: “I just looked in to see if there was anything I could do for you.”

“How kind,” said Madame Lisse in an exhausted voice. “There is nothing, thank you.”

“Have you got aspirin and everything?”

“I cannot take aspirin, unfortunately.”

“Then I can’t be of any use?”

Madame pressed the tips of her wonderfully manicured fingers against her shaded eyelids. “Too kind,” she said. “No, thank you. It will pass. In time, it will pass. It is an affliction of the nerves, you understand.”

“Beastly for you. I’m afraid,” said Chloris after a pause, “your nerves had a bit of a jolt. We’re all feeling rather temperamental at the moment.”

“Where is — What is everybody doing?” Madame Lisse asked with a certain freshening of her voice.

“Well, Lady Hersey’s talking to Mrs. Compline, who’s pretty poorly, too, it seems. Mr. Royal and Aubrey Mandrake are in the library, and William and Nicholas are next door in the smoking-room, holding a sort of family council or something. Dr. Hart’s in the ‘boudoir,’ I believe.” Chloris hesitated, wondering if it was possible for her to establish some sort of understanding with this woman who made her feel so gauche and so uncertain of herself. It seemed to her that if any one member of the house-party fully comprehended the preposterous situation, that person must be Madame Lisse. Indeed she might be regarded as a sort of liaison officer between Nicholas and Dr. Hart. Surely, surely, Chloris thought, she must know for certain if Hart is after Nicholas, and if so, why. Is she lying there, sleeking herself on being a successful femme fatale? I believe she really is in a funk. And taking a deep breath, Chloris thought, I’ll ask her. With a sensation of panic she heard her own voice —

“Madame Lisse, please forgive me for asking you, but honestly things are so desperate with all of us eying each other and nobody really knowing what they’re talking about, it would be a ghastly sort of relief to know the worst, so I thought I’d just ask you.”

“You thought you would just ask me what, Miss Wynne?”

“It sounds so bogus when you say it out loud.”

“I can hardly be expected to understand you unless you say it out loud.”

“Well, then: Is Dr. Hart trying to kill Nicholas Compline?” Madame Lisse did not answer immediately, and for a second or two the room was quite silent. Chloris felt the palms of her hands go damp and a sensation of panic mounted in her brain. She thought: “This is frightful. My nerve must be going.” And then suddenly: “I wish Aubrey were here.”