The second read simply danger keep out; the third, Desecration will be prevented all costs; the fourth, Residents are prepared interference will prove fatal; and the last, in one strip, death of elderly woman with a piecemeal addendum: this could be YOU.

“Well,” Alleyn said, “that’s a pretty collection, I must say. When did they come?”

“One by one, over the last five days. The first must have been posted immediately after the arrival of my letter.”

“Have you kept the envelopes?”

“Yes. The postmark is Portcarrow.”

“May I see them?”

She produced them: five cheap envelopes. The address had been built up from newsprint.

“Will you let me keep these? And the letters?”

“Certainly.”

“Any idea who sent them?” he asked.

“None.”

“Who has your address?”

“The landlord. Major Barrimore.”

“It’s an easy one to assemble from any paper: 37 Forecast Street. Wait a moment, though. This one wasn’t built up piecemeal. It’s all in one. I don’t recognize the type.”

“Possibly a local paper. At the time of my inheritance.”

“Yes. Almost certainly.”

He asked her for a larger envelope and put the collection into it.

“When do you plan to go to Portcarrow?”

“On Monday,” said Miss Emily composedly. “Without fail.”

Alleyn thought for a moment, and then sat down and took her hands in his. “Now, my dear Miss Emily,” he said. “Please do listen to what I’m going to say — in English, if you don’t mind.”

“Naturally, I shall listen carefully, since I have invited your professional opinion. As to speaking in English — very well, if you prefer it. Enfin, en ce moment on ne donne pas une leçon de français.”

“No. One gives, if you’ll forgive me, a lesson in sensible behaviour. Now, I don’t suggest for a minute that these messages mean, literally, what they seem to threaten. Possibly they are simply intended to put you off and if they fail to do that, you may hear no more about it. On the other hand they do suggest that you have an enemy at Portcarrow. If you go there you will invite unpleasant reactions.”

“I am perfectly well aware of that. Obviously. And,” said Miss Emily on a rising note, “if this person imagines that I am to be frightened off—”

“Now, wait a bit. There’s no real need for you to go, is there? The whole thing can be done, and done efficiently, by your solicitors. It would be a — a dignified and reasonable way of settling.”

“Until I have seen for myself what goes on, on the Island, I cannot give explicit instructions.”

“But you can. You can get a report.”

“That,” said Miss Emily, “would not be satisfactory.”

He could have shaken her.

“Have you,” he asked, “shown these things to your solicitors?”

“I have not.”

“I’m sure they would give you the same advice.”

“I should not take it.”

“Suppose this person means to do exactly what the messages threaten — offer violence? It might well be, you know.”

“That is precisely why I have sought your advice. I am aware that I should take steps to protect myself. What are they? I am not,” Miss Emily said, “proficient in the use of small-arms, and I understand that, in any case, one requires a permit. No doubt, in your position, you could obtain one and might possibly be so very kind as to give me a little instruction.”

“I shall not fiddle a small-arms permit for you nor shall I teach you to be quick on the draw. The suggestion is ridiculous.”

“There are, perhaps, other precautions,” she conceded, “such as walking down the centre of the road, remaining indoors after dark and making no assignations at unfrequented rendezvous.”

Alleyn contemplated his old instructress. Was there or was there not a remote twinkle in that dead-pan eye?

“I think,” he said, “you are making a nonsense of me.”

“Who’s being ridiculous, now?” asked Miss Emily tartly.

He stood up. “All right,” he said. “As a police officer it’s my duty to tell you that I think it extremely unwise for you to go to Portcarrow. As a grateful, elderly ex-pupil, I assure you that I shall be extremely fussed about you if you’re obstinate enough to persist in your plan…Dear Miss Emily,” said Alleyn, with a change of tone, “do, for the love of Mike, pipe down and stay where you are.”

“You would have been successful,” she said, “if you had continued in the Corps Diplomatique. I have never comprehended why you elected to change.”

“Obviously, I’ve had no success in this instance.”

“No. I shall go. But I am infinitely obliged to you, Rodrigue.”

“I suppose this must be put down to the wild strain in your blood.”

“Possibly.” Indicating that the audience was concluded, she rose and reverted to French. “You will give my fondest salutations to your wife and son?”

“Thank you. Troy sent all sorts of messages to you.”

“You appear to be a little fatigued. When is your vacation?”

“When I can snatch it. I hope quite soon,” Alleyn said, and was at once alarmed by a look of low cunning in Miss Emily. “Please don’t go,” he begged her.

She placed her hand in the correct position to be kissed. “Au revoir,” she said, “et mille remerciements.”

“Mes hommages, madame,” said Alleyn crossly. With the profoundest misgivings he took his leave of Miss Emily.

It was nine o’clock on a Saturday evening when the London train reached Dunlowman, where one changed for the Portcarrow bus. On alighting, Jenny, was confronted by several posters depicting a fanciful Green Lady, across whose image was superimposed a large notice advertising The Festival of the Spring. She had not recovered from this shock when she received a second one in the person of Patrick Ferrier. There he was, looking much the same after nearly two years, edging his way through the crowd, quite a largish one, that moved towards the barrier.

“Jenny!” he called. “Hi! I’ve come to meet you.”

“But it’s miles and miles!” Jenny cried, delighted to see him.

“A bagatelle. Hold on! Here I come.”

He reached her and seized her suitcases. “This is fun,” he said. “I’m so glad.”

Outside the station a number of people had collected under a sign that read Portcarrow Bus. Jenny watched them as she waited for Patrick to fetch his car. They looked, she thought, a singularly mixed bunch, and yet there was something about them — what was it? — that gave them an exclusive air, as if they belonged to some rather outlandish sect. The bus drew up, and as these people began to climb in, she saw that among them there was a girl wearing a steel brace on her leg. Further along the queue a man with an emaciated face and terrible eyes quietly waited his turn. There was a plain, heavy youth with a bandaged ear, and a woman who laughed repeatedly, it seemed without cause, and drew no response from her companion, an older woman, who kept her hand under the other’s forearm and looked ahead. They filed into the bus, and although there were no other outward signs of the element that united them, Jenny knew what it was.

Patrick drove up in a two-seater. He put her luggage into a boot that was about a quarter of the size of the bonnet, and in a moment they had shot away down the street.

“This is very handsome of you, Patrick,” Jenny said. “And what a car!”

“Isn’t she pleasant?”

“New, I imagine.”

“Yes. To celebrate. I’m eating my dinners, after all, Jenny. Do you remember?”

“Of course. I do congratulate you.”

“You may not be so polite when you see how it’s been achieved, however. Your wildest fantasies could scarcely match the present reality of the Island.”

“I did see the English papers in Paris, and your letters were fairly explicit.”