II

Mitzi opened the door of the drawing room and admitted Colonel and Mrs.

Easterbrook. She had her own methods of announcing people.

“Here is Colonel and Mrs. Easterbrook to see you,” she said conversa-tionally.

Colonel Easterbrook was very bluff and breezy to cover some slight em-barrassment.

“Hope you don’t mind us dropping in,” he said. (A subdued gurgle camefrom Julia.) “Happened to be passing this way—eh what? Quite a mildevening. Notice you’ve got your central heating on. We haven’t startedours yet.”

“Aren’t your chrysanthemums lovely?” gushed Mrs. Easterbrook. “Suchbeauties!”

“They’re rather scraggy, really,” said Julia.

Mrs. Easterbrook greeted Phillipa Haymes with a little extra cordialityto show that she quite understood that Phillipa was not really an agricul-tural labourer.

“How is Mrs. Lucas’ garden getting on?” she asked. “Do you think it willever be straight again? Completely neglected all through the war—andthen only that dreadful old man Ashe who simply did nothing but sweepup a few leaves and put in a few cabbage plants.”

“It’s yielding to treatment,” said Phillipa. “But it will take a little time.”

Mitzi opened the door again and said:

“Here are the ladies from Boulders.”

“’Evening,” said Miss Hinchcliffe, striding over and taking Miss Black-lock’s hand in her formidable grip. “I said to Murgatroyd: ‘Let’s just dropin at Little Paddocks!’ I wanted to ask you how your ducks are laying.”

“The evenings do draw in so quickly now, don’t they?” said Miss Murga-troyd to Patrick in a rather fluttery way. “What lovely chrysanthemums!”

“Scraggy!” said Julia.

“Why can’t you be cooperative?” murmured Patrick to her in a re-proachful aside.

“You’ve got your central heating on,” said Miss Hinchcliffe. She said itaccusingly. “Very early.”

“The house gets so damp this time of year,” said Miss Blacklock.

Patrick signalled with his eyebrows: “Sherry yet?” and Miss Blacklocksignalled back: “Not yet.”

She said to Colonel Easterbrook:

“Are you getting any bulbs from Holland this year?”

The door again opened and Mrs. Swettenham came in rather guiltily,followed by a scowling and uncomfortable Edmund.

“Here we are!” said Mrs. Swettenham gaily, gazing round her with frankcuriosity. Then, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, she went on: “I justthought I’d pop in and ask you if by any chance you wanted a kitten, MissBlacklock? Our cat is just—”

“About to be brought to bed of the progeny of a ginger tom,” said Ed-mund. “The result will, I think, be frightful. Don’t say you haven’t beenwarned!”

“She’s a very good mouser,” said Mrs. Swettenham hastily. And added:

“What lovely chrysanthemums!”

“You’ve got your central heating on, haven’t you?” asked Edmund, withan air of originality.

“Aren’t people just like gramophone records?” murmured Julia.

“I don’t like the news,” said Colonel Easterbrook to Patrick, buttonholinghim fiercely. “I don’t like it at all. If you ask me, war’s inevitable—abso-lutely inevitable.”

“I never pay any attention to news,” said Patrick.

Once more the door opened and Mrs. Harmon came in.

Her battered felt hat was stuck on the back of her head in a vague at-tempt to be fashionable and she had put on a rather limp frilly blouse in-stead of her usual pullover.

“Hallo, Miss Blacklock,” she exclaimed, beaming all over her round face.

“I’m not too late, am I? When does the murder begin?”

III

There was an audible series of gasps. Julia gave an approving little giggle,Patrick crinkled up his face and Miss Blacklock smiled at her latest guest.

“Julian is just frantic with rage that he can’t be here,” said Mrs. Harmon.

“He adores murders. That’s really why he preached such a good sermonlast Sunday—I suppose I oughtn’t to say it was a good sermon as he’s myhusband—but it really was good, didn’t you think?—so much better thanhis usual sermons. But as I was saying it was all because of Death Does theHat Trick. Have you read it? The girl at Boots’ kept it for me specially. It’ssimply baffling. You keep thinking you know—and then the whole thingswitches round—and there are a lovely lot of murders, four or five ofthem. Well, I left it in the study when Julian was shutting himself up thereto do his sermon, and he just picked it up and simply could not put itdown! And consequently he had to write his sermon in a frightful hurryand had to just put down what he wanted to say very simply—without anyscholarly twists and bits and learned references — and naturally it washeaps better. Oh, dear, I’m talking too much. But do tell me, when is themurder going to begin?”

Miss Blacklock looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.

“If it’s going to begin,” she said cheerfully, “it ought to begin soon. It’sjust a minute to the half hour. In the meantime, have a glass of sherry.”

Patrick moved with alacrity through the archway. Miss Blacklock wentto the table by the archway where the cigarette box was.

“I’d love some sherry,” said Mrs. Harmon. “But what do you mean byif?”

“Well,” said Miss Blacklock, “I’m as much in the dark as you are. I don’tknow what—”

She stopped and turned her head as the little clock on the mantelpiecebegan to chime. It had a sweet silvery bell-like tone. Everybody was silentand nobody moved. They all stared at the clock.

It chimed a quarter—and then the half. As the last note died away all thelights went out.