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still and black, as if filled with tar. The silence was getting on her nerves, broken only by the crunch of their footsteps.
    They came to a road and walked slowly past Palfry's house. No lights anywhere. Small windows on both floors and no sign of an entrance. The front door must be round the back. She looked at Margesson's dwelling and gasped as she saw it more clearly. All the brickwork and even the pillars flanking the front door were painted a light green.
    'That's ridiculous,' she protested. 'A Georgian house painted green.'
    'We'll find he's eccentric.' Tweed predicted, reaching for the bell-pull. 'And this thing is more suitable for an old cottage.'
    There was a whirring sound and the heavy wooden door swung inward. Electrically operated. A massive figure stood in the doorway. At least six feet tall, he had broad shoulders and large hands. His chin was concealed behind a long black beard, matching the colour of the thick thatch on his big head. His forehead was wide and narrow, his brown eyes half hidden under heavy lids above a Roman nose and thick sensuous lips.
    The strangest aspect was the long white robe he wore, which almost reached his ankles. The white collar stretched round his bull-like neck. His voice was soft, persuasive. Paula took an instant dislike to it.
    'How may I serve you?' the huge figure enquired.
    'I am Tweed, Deputy Director of the SIS.' He held open his identity folder. 'This is my personal assistant, Paula Grey. We are here to investigate the disappearance of Mrs Warner. She has been gone three weeks.'
    'Please enter my humble home. I suggest we confer at the round table.'
    They walked into a vast sitting-room as the door auto matically closed behind them. Paula was not expecting this. The room was two storeys high with an arched ceil ing. It reminded her of houses in the States which had similar living quarters called a cathedral room. The walls were painted white and decorated with framed English landscapes.
    'Some wine?' Margesson suggested. 'A libation?'
    They both refused as they sat on hard cushionless chairs with high backs. Paula tried to wriggle herself into a better position as their host arranged his robe and sat facing her. His peculiar eyes gazed straight at her as he spoke.
    'There is no comfort in this dwelling. That is deliberate. We live in a world here where there is only softness, so we have a society which has collapsed. Into chaos.'
    'Chaos?' Tweed queried sharply.
    'There is no discipline, no morality, only the indulgence of pleasures, many of a dubious nature. Parents make no effort to control their offspring, so we breed a fresh generation which, if not controlled, will plunge us deeper into the pit of degradation.'
    'Assuming that what you say is correct,' Tweed said agreeably, 'then what - if anything - could be done to reverse the trend?'
    Paula, taken aback, glanced at him. Then she realized Tweed was subtly leading on their host. She assumed a solemn expression to match Tweed's.
    'The present society must be wrenched free from its moorings, shaken to the core by the introduction of the most severe measures. For example, adultery is now regarded almost as a normal behaviour. If a woman is taken in adultery she has to be subjected to the most draconian punishment.'
    'I should have asked earlier,' Tweed interjected. 'You are Mr Margesson?'
    'Olaf Margesson at your service, sir.'
    'Olaf ? That isn't very English.'
    'My ancestors long ago came from Finland.'
    'Really?' Tweed paused. 'Yet your skin, if I may remark on it, has a brownish tinge. Not a colour anyone would inherit from Finland.'
    Watching their host closely, Paula saw the eyes narrow even more, so they almost disappeared beneath the lids. She felt sure she had caught a flash -of fury in those disturbing eyes.
    'You mentioned a draconian punishment for women,' she challenged him. 'What about men caught in adultery?'
    'They would also receive a punishment to mark them out for the foul things they are. That is