Eight

I
I slept badly that night. I think that, even then, there were pieces of thepuzzle floating about in my mind. I believe that if I had given my mind toit, I could have solved the whole thing then and there. Otherwise why didthose fragments tag along so persistently?

How much do we know at anytime? Much more, or so I believe, than weknow we know! But we cannot break through to that subterranean know-ledge. It is there, but we cannot reach it.

I lay on my bed, tossing uneasily, and only vague bits of the puzzle cameto torture me.

There was a pattern, if only I could get hold of it. I ought to know whowrote those damned letters. There was a trail somewhere if only I couldfollow it….

As I dropped off to sleep, words danced irritatingly through my drowsymind.

“No smoke without fire.” No fire without smoke. Smoke… Smoke?

Smoke screen… No, that was the war—a war phrase. War. Scrap of pa-per… Only a scrap of paper. Belgium— Germany….

I fell asleep. I dreamt that I was taking Mrs. Dane Calthrop, who hadturned into a greyhound, for a walk with a collar and lead.