"You mean-?"

"An eye-witness to a crime."

The legal man looked at Poirot with mounting disbelief.

"Where is this eye-witness now?"

"On the way to London, I hope and trust."

"You sound-disturbed."

"That is true. I have done what I can to take care of things, but I will admit to you that I am frightened. Yes, I am frightened in spite of the protective measures I have taken. Because, you see, we are-how shall I describe it?-we are up against ruthlessness, quick reactions, greed pushed beyond an expect able human limit and perhaps-I am not sure but I think it possible-a touch, shall we say, of madness? Not there originally, but cultivated.

A seed that took root and grows fast. And now perhaps has taken charge, inspiring an inhuman rather than a human attitude to life."

"We'll have to have a few extra opinions on this," said the legal man.

"We can't rush into things. Of course, a lot depends on the-er-forestry business. If that's positive, we can go ahead, but if it's negative, we'd have to think again."

Hercule Poirot rose to his feet.

"I will take my leave. I have told you all that I know and all that I fear and envisage as possible. I shall remain in touch with you."

He shook hands all round with foreign precision, and went out.

"The man's a bit of a mountebank," said the legal man.

"You don't think he's a bit touched, do you? Touched in the head himself, I mean? Anyway, he's a pretty good age. I don't know that one can rely on the faculties of a man of that age."

"I think you can rely upon him," said the Chief Constable.

"At least, that is my impression. Spence, I've known you a good many years. You're a friend of his.

Do you think he's become a little senile?"

"No, I don't," said Superintendent Spence.

"What's your opinion, Raglan?"

"I've only met him recently, sir. At first I thought his well, his way of talking, his ideas, might be fantastic. But on the whole I'm converted. I think he's going to be proved right."

MRS. OLIVER had ensconced herself at a table in the window of The Black Boy. It was still fairly early, so the dining-room was not very full. Presently, Judith Butler returned from powdering her nose and sat down opposite her and examined the menu.

"What does Miranda like?" asked Mrs.

Oliver.

"We might as well order for her as well. I suppose she'll be back in a minute."

"She likes roast chicken."

"Well, that's easy then. What about you?"

"I'll have the same."

"Three roast chickens," Mrs. Oliver ordered.

She leaned back, studying her friend.

"Why are you staring at me in that way?"

"I was thinking," said Mrs. Oliver.

"Thinking what?"

"Thinking really how very little I knew about you."

"Well, that's the same with everybody, isn't it?"

"You mean, one never knows all about anyone."

"I shouldn't think so."

"Perhaps you're right," said Mrs.

Oliver.

Both women were silent for some time.

"They're rather slow serving things here."

"It's coming now, I think," said Mrs.

Oliver.

A waitress arrived with a tray full of dishes.

"Miranda's a long time. Does she know where the dining-room is?"

"Yes, of course she does. We looked in on the way." Judith got up impatiently.

"I'll have to go and fetch her."

"I wonder if perhaps she gets car sick."

"She used to when she was younger."

She returned some four or five minutes later.

"She's not in the Ladies'," she said.

"There's a door outside it into the garden.

Perhaps she went out that way to look at a bird or something. She's like that."

"No time to look at bird's to-day," said Mrs. Oliver.

"Go and call her or something.

We want to get on."

Elspeth McKay pricked some sausages with a fork, laid them on a baking dish, put it in the Frigidaire and started to peel potatoes.

The telephone rang.

"Mrs. McKay? Sergeant Goodwin here.

Is your brother there?"

"No. He's in London today."

"I've rung him there-he's left. When he gets back, tell him we've had a positive result."

"You mean you've found a body in the well?"

"Not much use clamming up about it.

The word's got round already."

"Who is it? The au pair girl?"

"Seems like it."

"Poor girl," said Elspeth.

"Did she throw herself in-or what?"

"It wasn't suicide-she was knifed. It was murder all right."

After her mother had left the Ladies' Room, Miranda waited for a minute or two. Then she opened the door, cautiously peered out, opened the side door to the garden which was close at hand and ran down the garden path that led round to the back yard of what had once been a coaching inn and was now a garage. She went out at a small door that enabled pedestrians to get into a lane outside. A little farther down the lane a car was parked. A man with beetling grey eyebrows and a grey beard was sitting in it reading a newspaper. Miranda opened the door and climbed in beside the driving-seat. She laughed.

"You do look funny."

"Have a hearty laugh, there's nothing to stop you."

The car started, went down the lane, turned right, turned left, turned right again and came out on a secondary road.

"We're all right for time," said the grey-bearded man.

"At the right moment you'll see the double axe as it ought to be seen.

And Kilterbury Down, too. Wonderful view."

A car dashed past them so closely that they were almost forced into the hedge.

"Young idiots," said the grey-bearded man.

One of the young men had long hair reaching over his shoulders and large, owlish spectacles. The other one affected a more Spanish appearance with sideburns.

"You don't think Mummy will worry about me?" asked Miranda.

"She won't have time to worry about you. By the time she worries about you, you'll have got where you want to be."

In London, Hercule Poirot picked up the telephone. Mrs. Oliver's voice came over.

"We've lost Miranda."

"What do you mean, lost her?"

"We had lunch at The Black Boy. She went to the loo. She didn't come back.

Somebody said they saw her driving away with an elderly man. But it mightn^t have been her. It might have been someone else. It-"

"Someone should have stayed with her.

Neither of you ought to have let her out of your sight. I told you there was danger.

Is Mrs. Butler very worried?"

"Of course she's worried. What do you think? She's frantic. She insists on ringing the police."

"Yes, that would be the natural thing to do. I will ring them also."

"But why should Miranda be in danger?"

"Don't you know? You ought to by now." He added, "The body's been found.

I've just heard " "What body?"

"A body in a well."

"ATT'S beautiful," said Miranda, looking | round her.

— JL Kilterbury Ring was a local beauty spot though its remains were not particularly famous. They had been dismantled many hundreds of years ago. Yet here and there a tall megalithic stone still stood, upright, telling of a long past ritual worship. Miranda asked questions.

"Why did they have all these stones here?"

"For ritual. Ritual worship. Ritual sacrifice. You understand about sacrifice, don't you, Miranda?"

"I think so."

"It has to be, you see. It's important."

"You mean, it's not a sort of punishment?

It's something else?"

"Yes, it's something else. You die so that others should live. You die so that beauty should live. Should come into being. That's the important thing."

"I thought perhaps-"

"Yes, Miranda?"

"I thought perhaps you ought to die because what you've done has killed someone else."

"What put that into your head?"

"I was thinking of Joyce. If I hadn't told her about something, she wouldn't have died, would she?"