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for it!”
    There were some short ugly sounds and the sobbing terminated abruptly. I got up quickly. Mrs Mulqueen put her hand on my arm. When she smiled there was a sudden striking resemblance to herbrother. The door of the study opened and Yvonne Holland rushed out, one hand across her face.
    James Holland stood in the middle of the room. The heavy crimson hangings were drawn across the windows. A standard lamp was all that lighted the room.
    â€œCome in, Mrs Matheson,” he said, and went back to his desk. “Sit down. You need not stay, Elizabeth.”
    Mrs Mulqueen glanced along the hall before entering.
    â€œJames, why don’t you send her away? She doesn’t belong here. She never will be a Holland. Let her go.”
    Holland picked up a letter from his desk and scanned it without expression. “She was my son’s wife. Her child is a Holland. One day he will take my place here. Yvonne has responsibilities. She must be taught to realize them.” He put the letter down and looked at me. “You saw the Dower and like it, Mrs Matheson?”
    â€œI think your house would be most suitable for us. I suppose you wouldn’t consider—”
    Mrs Mulqueen broke in with her soft laugh. It was an artificial sound, like an amateur on the stage. A series of descending “ha-has.”
    â€œI warned you not to become fond of the Dower,” she said, wagging one finger at me. “My brother has no intention of selling it, have you, James?”
    Holland spoke slowly without taking his eyes from the letter on his desk. “I’ll let the Dower House to you, Mrs Matheson.”
    â€œOur idea is to buy a house, not to rent one,” I said, and got to my feet.
    Holland surveyed me with surprise. “You refuse my offer?”
    â€œI do,” I replied boldly. “Relations between landlord and tenant are always insecure. I wouldn’t trust you, Mr Holland.”
    Mrs Mulqueen gasped.
    â€œWell, really!” she began. Holland silenced her.
    â€œYou are a very forthright young woman,” he observed. “Suppose I offer you an option of buying the Dower in—shall we say—six months’ time?”
    â€œJames,” Elizabeth Mulqueen said in a plaintive voice. He glanced at her, an ironic gleam in his eye.
    â€œYou wouldn’t like to have the police for neighbours, Elizabeth? Or were you expecting me to give the Dower to you?”
    â€œIt is your house, James,” Mrs Mulqueen answered brightly.
    â€œI accept your offer,” I said, adding with caution, “providing you put it in writing.”
    He scribbled on a sheet of paper and pushed it across the desk. “My solicitors’ address. Your husband may contact them. Braithwaite will arrange the details of our agreement. Good night, Mrs Matheson.”
    A thought occurred to me. “Mr Cruikshank. Will I let him know of your decision?”
    There was a slight pause.
    â€œYou need not concern yourself with Cruikshank,” Holland said shortly. “Elizabeth, show Mrs Matheson out.”
    Although he did not get up from his desk I felt moved to say: “Thank you for your generosity, Mr Holland. You cannot know what this means to us. Good night.”
    I did not know then about the estate agent, Arthur Cruikshank. Even if I had, I doubt whether I would have cared.
    I had found a house.

CHAPTER TWO
    I
    Mr Cruikshank had disappeared. He had walked out of Holland Hall, down the gravelled driveway, and vanished into thin air.
    I did not hear of it until some time later. Inquiries as to his whereabouts were not started for several days after the actual disappearance. Cruikshank’s sister, Maud, set the ball rolling. She went to the local police station and told Sergeant Billings that her brother had not been at the shop since late afternoon on a certain date. She had last seen him in the company of a smartly dressed young woman, who might be described as fair and