"I don't know what you're talking about, miss. What horn? Bernard never said anything about any horn."

"Oh? Well, skip it. It's over, thank God, without harm. Now we have to think what to do."

I looked down at my hands while I tried to marshal my thoughts. And the pattern was forming in a way I didn't want to examine too closely. It was all there. I tried to make myself look at it all quite coldly and in order, from the time when Philippe had been sent up to Valmy and so delivered by the unsuspecting Hippolyte straight into the hands of murder…

The first step-and it was taken immediately-had been to get rid of the only person close to Philippe and trusted by Hippolyte-the child's nurse. Someone must replace her, and it was judged better to find a young woman without family or guardian who, in the event of an "accident" to her pupil, wouldn't be able to call upon friends and relatives to exonerate her from possible charges of carelessness (or worse) should there be a mistake and doubts arise. So Madame de Valmy had made inquiries of a friend in London who was known to supply her friends with domestic help from an orphanage. Who better than an orphan, and a foreigner at that-someone who, in the accumulated bewilderments of a new job, a new country, and a foreign language, would hardly be in a position to observe too much or defend herself too readily… There had in sober fact been that slight over-emphasis on my Englishness…my instinct to hide my Continental origin had, absurd though it had seemed, been right.

So the scapegoat had been found and brought to France. They waited. There was plenty of time. I had been allowed to settle in; my life with Philippe formed its own quiet pattern, an ordinary day-to-day pattern which appeared pleasantly normal except that Monsieur de Valmy couldn't quite keep his bitter tongue off the child who stood between him and so much. So it had gone on. I had stayed there three weeks, settled and happy, though still not quite at ease with my employers. Then the attempt was made and, by the purest chance, it failed. The second was a longer chance, but quite safe for them-the rotten coping had already been reported, so Bernard had made sure of the stone's collapse and then waited for an accident to happen when none of the interested parties was anywhere near. And the second "accident" failed too, because of me. If the first, or even the second, had come off, "accident" would almost certainly have been the verdict… and no doubt an entirely baffling series of alibis was in any case available. Certainly the one person who couldn't be found guilty was the interested party, Léon de Valmy. It would have been a tragedy, and it would have blown over, whispers and all, and Léon would have had Valmy. It was even possible that there'd have been no whispers at all… Léon was highly thought of, and a first-rate landlord: the country folk would for many years past have regarded him as the seigneur, and they might have been only too pleased when the custody of Valmy passed unequivocally into his hands.

Berthe was still crouching at the foot of my bed, watching me dumbly. I said: "And now, Berthe, what's next?"

"I don't know. I don't know."

"You must. This is what matters. Think. Bernard let so much out; he must have told you that."

"No. I don't think he knew himself. I think it wasn't to be him. That's all." She floundered, gulped, and began to sob again.

Out of nowhere, unbidden, unwanted, a picture flashed onto the dark screen of my mind. Philippe's sleeping head lolling back against Raoul's shoulder, and Héloïse's voice saying hoarsely: “What's the matter with Philippe?" And Raoul giving her that hard quelling look. "Nothing at all. He's asleep.”

I said shakily: "And Bernard said nothing to indicate when? Or how?"

"No, honestly he didn't. But it was to be soon because of Monsieur Hippolyte coming back. The cable came early this morning and it really put the Master out, Bernard said."

"And Hippolyte's coming back tomorrow?" I caught my breath. "Today, Berthe. It's today, d'you realise that? Today?"

"Why-yes, I reckon it is. It's nearly one o'clock, isn't it? But I don't rightly know when Monsieur Hippolyte'll get here. I think it won't be till night, and then he mayn't get up to Valmy till Thursday."

I said quietly: "Monsieur Raoul has gone to Paris till Thursday, Berthe. If the cable came 'early' this morning he would probably know about it, but he still went to Paris. So he can't be in it, can he? Bernard was wrong."

She said in that dull voice that was stupid with shock and succeeded in sounding stubborn: "Bernard said he was in it. Bernard said he fired the shot."

It was useless-and cruel-to spend myself in protests. I said: "All right. The point is that if we're to decide, how to protect Philippe we must have some idea where the danger's coming from. I mean, nobody's going to listen to us unless we have some sort of a case which, God knows, we haven't got yet. Let's begin with the things we know. You say it's not to be Bernard."

She gulped and nodded. She was steadier now, I saw, and her breathing was less ragged. Her hands had stopped wrenching at each other. She was listening with some sort of attention.

I said: "I think we can count out the idea that there are any more booby-traps waiting about. They've got to make quite certain this time; they can't wait for chance to act for them. And in any case, too many 'accidents' of the same kind might make people begin to think. That was why Monsieur de Valmy warned me about the swing in the barn… yes, he did that this afternoon, after he'd heard that Hippolyte was coming back. He was as nice as ninepence, though I'd been quite sure that he and Madame-oh, well, that doesn't matter. Well, Bernard's out, and booby-traps are out. There are limits to what Monsieur de Valmy can do himself, and from the way things have gone up to here, so it can't be Raoul." In spite of myself my voice lightened on the words. I said almost joyously: "That leaves Madame, doesn't it."

"Are you sure?" said Berthe.

"That it's Madame? Of course I'm not. But-"

"That he's gone," said Berthe.

I stared at her. "What do you mean?"

She gave a little boneless shrug. "It's a big place."

Something crept over my skin like a cold draught. "You mean… he may still be here somewhere… hiding?"

She didn't speak. She nodded. Her eyes, watching me painfully, were once more alive and intelligent.

I said almost angrily: "But he went. People must have seen him go. Bernard said-oh, that's not evidence, is it? But his car's gone. I noticed that when we came through the stableyard this afternoon."

"Yes. He left. I saw him. But he could have come back. There's such things," added Berthe surprisingly, "as alibis."

I said slowly: "Yes, I suppose there are. But that he should be here-hiding-no, it's too far-fetched and absurd."

"Well," said Berthe, "but it's absurd to think Madame would do it, isn't it?"

"Oh God," I said explosively, "it's absurd to think anyone would do it I But I can't believe the thing hinges on Raoul. No"-as she was about to speak-"not only for the reason you think, but because if he is in it, I can't see where I come in at all. That's fantastic if you like."

"How d'you mean?"

"If he was involved in this murder thing, why get involved with me? You know he was, of course?"

"Everybody knew."

I said bitterly: "They did, didn't they? Well, why did he? Surely it was a dangerous and unnecessary thing to

do?"

"Perhaps," she said disconcertingly, "he just can't help it. You're awfully pretty, aren't you, and Albertine says that when they were in Paris she heard-"

“Ah, yes, “I said. “Albertine hears an awful lot doesn’t she? You mean that he automatically turns the power on for every young female he meets? His father’s like that, have you noticed? He's got a technique all his own of disarming you with his affliction and then switching on charm like an arc-light. Well, it could be, but I don't think so. Raoul's not like his father; he's got no need to waste himself where it doesn't matter. And in this case it might have been actually dangerous to get involved with me if he was.… Third Murderer."