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    ‘Has nobody ever found a clue? Or heard even a rumour?’ asked Stella.
    ‘Yes, there was a clue. And though nothing ever came of it, I myself have always thought it provides the most intriguing part of the story. The unexpected and fantastic twist!’ The Brigadier’s voice was all at once less pedantic and almost eager, and it was obvious that the tale held a peculiar and recurrent fascination for him.
    ‘In May 1940 a little band of refugees were landed in England from a small fishing boat. Among them was a child.’
    ‘You mean you think it may have been the Ridders’ child?’
    ‘Oh no. This was an English child. Her parents had been in Belgium when the German attack came, and they had both been killed. None of the other refugees appeared to know anything about her and they had all imagined her to be French, for until an Englishwoman at the Centre spoke to her in English, and she replied in that language, she had only spoken French. She was sent with a batch of sick refugees - England was full of refugees in those days - to some hospital or home in Sussex, until she could be identified. She was carrying a large doll from which she refused to be parted.’
    The silence about the table changed in an instant, and became curiously intent and charged with something far more than interest in an unusual story. But if the Brigadier noticed it he evidently put it down to his powers of narration.
    ‘Some time later she broke the doll, and a kindly doctor offered to see if he could mend it for her. It was then discovered that the hollow body of the doll was stuffed with jewels and over five thousand pounds in high-denomination British and American banknotes. The child had no idea how they came to be there and could offer no explanation for their presence. She insisted that the doll had been given her for Christmas, and that nobody had touched it but herself. The jewels were later identified as being the property of Frau Use Ridder.’
    There was a long, long silence.
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    Brigadier Brindley beamed complacently upon his audience, pleased at the sensation his dénouement had created. Robert was looking thunderstruck, Miranda’s face had paled and she and Stella were staring at him literally open-mouthed.
    Well, I’m damned!’ said Robert with explosive violence.
    Stella’s face flushed a vivid pink and she stuttered a little when she spoke.
    ‘B-But - but - Oh, it can’t be true! This is the most incredible thing I ever heard!’
    ‘My dear lady,’ said the Brigadier a little stiffly, ‘I assure you…’
    ‘Oh, of course he hasn’t made it up!’ interrupted Miranda, her face pale and her eyes enormous. ‘It’s just a staggering coincidence. It’s fantastic!’
    ‘I am afraid I do not quite understand,’ began the Brigadier, patently bewildered.
    ‘No, of course you don’t!’ said Stella. ‘How could you? It’s just that your story has knocked all the wind out of us. You see it really is the queerest possible coincidence. That hospital you mentioned
    - the one in Sussex-well, it wasn’t a proper hospital. It was only being used as a sort of nursing home during the war. It was my house - Mallow - and I was nursing there. And Miranda was the little girl with the doll!’
    ‘Well, I’m damned!’ said Brigadier Brindley, echoing Robert’s words with equal fervour. He pulled out a handkerchief, and mopping his forehead looked a little wildly round the table. ‘You are not by any chance pulling my leg?’ he inquired suspiciously.
    ‘No, I promise you we’re not! It’s quite true. Isn’t it, Robert? Ask Miranda! She must remember it.’
    ‘Of course I do,’ said Miranda unsteadily, ‘I dropped Wilhelmina - that was the doll - on the paving stones of the terrace, and her head came off. It had always been a bit wobbly I think. I was bathed in tears and despair, and a nice young doctor said he would mend her for me.