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heard Aunt Gina’s swift catch of her breath and thought intuitively:
    “She knows about Rosemary, and she’s afraid that’s what I’m going to question Anthony about!”
    She hesitated on the brink of explaining that she had nothing of the sort in mind, but after all, she might have been mistaken, and then it would take so long to explain that Anthony might return in the middle of it—
    So she lay back in the deck chair, her eyes closed, until a pleasant, musical tinkle told her that Anthony had come back and was holding out a tall glass in which ice bobbed about and from which two straws projected invitingly.
    “An Anthony Trevose Special,” he declared as she took it from him. “And you’re to drink at least half of it before you start talking!”
    She darted a quick look at him. Was he, too, afraid that she was going to talk about Rosemary and was imposing this short period of silence in the hope that by the end of it she might have had second thoughts? She didn’t know, but looking at Anthony’s dark face as he sprawled on the turf at her and Aunt Gina’s feet, she thought she detected a tautness about the muscles of his mouth.
    She half emptied the glass, set it down on the garden table and began without preamble:
    “I went down to the village by the cliff path and when I got to our gate, there was a man there who had come up from Pay-off Gove. So we walked the rest of the way down together—”
    With meticulous care she told Anthony what Martin had said to her, and what she had replied. And finally, the unpleasant episode with Tom Polwyn.
    Her two auditors listened intently, but though Anthony scowled when she spoke of Tom, neither of them interrupted her. Finally, when she had finished, Aunt Gina declared indignantly:
    “I never did like that Tom Polwyn! He’s nothing but a great big bully who enjoys scaring other people—”
    “That’s perfectly true, Aunt Gina,” Anthony agreed. “But I think, in this instance, there’s more to it than that. For one thing, from what this chap himself told Fen, he’s found more than one person unfriendly, not just Tom. And for another, granted that our local grapevine must be one of the best in the world, the speed with which that particular bit of news got down to Tom was well above our normal standards. In other words, it was important. Did this new acquaintance happen to say what his name was, Fen?”
    “Oh yes, Martin something. Arden? No. Adair. Why, do you know him?” as Anthony gave an exclamation of surprise.
    “Not personally. But by what he's done—yes. And so do you, Fen! He’s the writer of those adventure novels that have a factual background based on his own experiences. There was one about a trip up the Amazon, and another about crossing the Sahara. Excellent stuff. Individual style, and he maintains the interest right through. So many people who write that sort of stuff get so factual that they become boring.”
    “Well, admittedly, he told Fenella he was writing a book,” Aunt Gina said doubtfully. “But after the Amazon and the Sahara, I should have thought Fairhaven was something of a comedown, wouldn’t you? Difficult to see how he could make much of a quiet little place like this. Surely it must be some other man.”
    “We’ll soon see,” Anthony declared, energetically getting to his feet. “There’s a photograph of him on the paper jacket of one of the books—I’ll get it.”
    A few moments later he handed the book to Fenella, and waited silently for her verdict.
    “Yes.” She gazed at the pictured face with interest. “Yes, that’s the one!” and she handed the book to Aunt Gina.
    “Not good-looking,” that lady commented. “But pleasant—and intelligent. All right, so that’s settled. Now what?”
    Anthony pondered.
    “You say quite rightly, Aunt Gina, that Fairhaven is a quiet little place, but that doesn’t mean nothing exciting has ever happened here. After all, what about the Nimrod ?” He paused and