She turned abruptly away, and Penelope saw that further pleading would be futile. She accepted her dismissal with such philosophy as she could summon.

Most of the rest of that day she spent in her own room, Sophie without any request being made, bringing her her meals on a tray. It was towards evening that she took a stroll in the grounds, and the dullness of her thoughts was distracted by the hooting of a car at the gates. Sophie Lengholm heard it too, and moved swiftly out with the key in her hand. A minute more and Larry Hughes’ Rolls Royce had drawn within.

Hughes himself was the first to descend. There was a blood stained contusion on his face that lent it an uncommonly sinister appearance. He seemed about to say something to her, but checked himself, and turned to the others who were pouring out of the car in grim silence. He grouped himself with others to assist one man down, and Penelope saw that bloodstained handkerchiefs enwrapped one of the feet of this individual. He was assisted into the house by two of his companions, and then a woman appeared in the doorway of the car. Penelope gave a little gasp.