When Madame Lisse spoke her voice was clear and very cold: “I know nothing whatever about it.”

“But—”

“Nothing, do you hear me? Nothing.”

And with a gesture whose violence shocked Chloris, she gripped the lace at her bosom. “How dare you look at me like that?” cried Madame Lisse. “Leave me alone. Go out of this room. I know nothing, I tell you. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.”

Jonathan struck his plump hands together and uttered a little wail of despair. “It’s all very well to sit there and tell me something must be done, but what can I do? We’ve no proof. Nicholas had better go to bed and lock his door. I shall tell Nicholas to go to bed and lock his door.”

“I’m not worrying so much about Nicholas,” said Mandrake. “He’ll look after himself. I’ve no opinion at all of Nicholas. He hasn’t got the nerve of a louse. It’s William I’m thinking about. William’s dangerous, Jonathan. He’s out for blood. I don’t think Hart’ll get Nicholas, but, by God, I believe unless you do something about it, William will get Hart.”

“But why, why, why!”

“Jonathan, you pride yourself on your astuteness don’t you? Can’t you understand what’s happened to William? Didn’t you see his face when they were up there in Nicholas’ room? When their mother told them that Hart was responsible for her disfigurement? Why, you yourself told me that when he was a child the disfigurement made an indelible impression on him. You have always recognized the intensity of his absorption in his mother. You’ve seen how readily he’s adopted her extraordinary explanation of Hart’s attacks on Nicholas. You’ve seen how he’s abandoned all his private rows with Nicholas and come out strong in his defence. Can’t you see that psychologically he’s all of a piece? I tell you, the pent-up repressions of a lifetime have come out for an airing. William’s dangerous.”

“Freudian mumbo-jumbo,” said Jonathan uneasily.

“It may be, but I don’t think you can risk ignoring the possibilities.”

“What am I to do?” Jonathan repeated angrily. “Lock up the Complines? Lock up Hart? Come, my dear Aubrey!”

“I think that at least you should have it out with Hart. Tell him flatly that we all think he’s the author of these attacks. See what sort of a defence he can make. Then tackle William. You shut him up pretty successfully a little while ago, but there he is in the next room with Nicholas, who’s no doubt busily engaged in churning it all up again.”

“You’ve suddenly become wonderfully purposeful, Aubrey. At dinner I thought you seemed half in a trance.”

“The look in William’s eye has effectually roused me.”

“And the touch of Miss Wynne’s hand, perhaps?” Jonathan tittered.

“Perhaps. Are you going to tackle Hart?”

“What an odious expression that is. ‘Tackle.’ Very well, but you must come with me.”

“As you please,” said Mandrake. They moved towards the door. It opened and Chloris came in. “What’s the matter?” Mandrake ejaculated.

“Nothing. At least, I’ve been talking to Madame Lisse. I suddenly felt I couldn’t stand it. So I asked her, flat out, if she knew what Dr. Hart was up to. She turned all venomous and sort of spat at me. I’ve got a jitterbug. This house gets more and more noiseless every hour. Out there the snow’s piling up thicker and thicker. I’m sorry,” said Chloris, turning to Jonathan, “but it’s suffocating, isn’t it, to be shut up with something that threatens and doesn’t come off? It’s as if something’s fumbling about the passages, setting silly, dangerous booby-traps — something mad and dangerous. Do you know, I keep wishing there’d be an air raid. That’s pretty feeble-minded, isn’t it?”

“Here,” said Mandrake, “you sit down by the fire. What the devil do you mean by talking jitterbugs? We look towards you for a spot of brave young memsahib. Do your stuff, woman.”

“I’m all right,” said Chloris. “I’m sorry. I’m all right. Where were you off to, you two?”

Mandrake explained, while Jonathan fussed round Chloris, glad, so Mandrake fancied, of an excuse to postpone the interview with Dr. Hart. He threw a quantity of logs on the fire, hurried away to the dining-room, and returned with the decanter of port. He insisted on Chloris’ taking a glass, helped himself and, as an afterthought, Mandrake. Hersey came in and reported her interview with Mrs. Compline. She uttered a phrase that Mandrake had begun to dread. “I looked out through the west door. It’s snowing harder than ever.” Jonathan showed an inclination to settle down to a chat but Mandrake said firmly that they might now leave Hersey and Chloris together. He waited for Jonathan, who gulped down his port, sighed, and got slowly to his feet. In the smoking-room next door the drone of the voices of William and Nicholas in conversation rose to some slight and amicable climax, ending in a light laugh from Nicholas. Perhaps, after all, thought Mandrake, he is making William see sense. Better not to disturb them. And he led the reluctant Jonathan, by way of the hall, into the green boudoir.

When he saw Dr. Hart the fancy crossed Mandrake’s mind that Highfold was full of solitary figures crouched over fires. The door had opened silently and for a moment Hart was not aware of his visitors. He sat on the edge of an armchair, leaning forward, his arms resting upon his thighs, his hands dangling together between his knees. His head, a little sunken and inclined forward, was in shadow, but the firelight found those hands, whose whiteness, whose firm full flesh and square finger-tips, were expressive of their profession. “They’ve got a look of prestige,” thought Mandrake, and he repeated to himself, “professional hands.”

Jonathan shut the door and the hands closed like traps as Dr. Hart turned and sprang to his feet.

“Oh — er — hullo, Hart,” began Jonathan, unpromisingly. “We — ah — we thought perhaps we might have a little conference.”

Hart did not answer, but he turned his head and stared at Mandrake. “I’ve asked Aubrey to come with me,” said Jonathan, quickly, “because, you see, he’s one of the — the victims, and because, as a complete stranger to all of you, [A complete stranger to Chloris? thought Mandrake] we can’t possibly suspect him of any complicity.”

“Complicity?” Hart said, still staring at Mandrake. “No. No, I suppose you are right.”

“Now,” said Jonathan, more firmly and with a certain briskness. “Let us sit down, shall we, and discuss this affair sensibly?”

“I have said all that I have to say. I made no attack upon Mr. Mandrake, and I made no attack upon Nicholas Compline. That I am at enmity with Compline, I admit. He has insulted me, and I do not care for insults. If it were possible I should refuse to stay in the same house with him. It is not possible but I can at least refuse to meet him. I do so. I take advantage of your offer to remain here or in my room until I am able to leave.”

“Now, my dear Hart, this really won’t do.” Jonathan drew up two chairs to the fire and, obeying a movement of his hand, Mandrake sat in one while Jonathan himself took the other. Hart remained standing, his hands clasped behind his back.

“It won’t do, you know,” Jonathan repeated. “This last affair, this balancing of a Buddha, this preposterous and malicious trap, could have been planned and executed with one object only, the object of doing a fatal injury to Nicholas Compline. I have made tolerably exhaustive enquiries and I find that, motive apart, it is extremely improbable that any of my guests, excepting yourself, had an opportunity to set the second trap for Nicholas Compline. I tell you this at the outset, Dr. Hart, because I feel certain that if you can advance some proof of your — your innocence, you will now wish to do so.” Jonathan struck the arms of his chair lightly with the palms of his hands. Mandrake thought: “He’s not doing so badly, after all.” He looked at Jonathan because he found himself unable to look at Dr. Hart and, on a flash of irrelevant thinking, he remembered that a barrister had once told him that if the members of a returning jury studiously averted their eyes from the prisoner, you could depend upon it that their verdict would be “Guilty.”