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“A mystery!” Rosemary interrupted sharply. “Oh, what arrant nonsense! Martin is here to get some information he wants for the book he’s writing. Something about skin-diving—”

“Yes, that’s what he told me,” Fenella said eagerly.

’“And he’s the sort of writer that doesn’t write about things unless he’s got first-hand knowledge of them. You said that about his other books, Anthony.”

“I know I did,” he agreed uneasily. “But I can’t help feeling that there’s something more than that—”

“I quite agree,” Mrs. Trevose interposed crisply. “Because although I know coincidences do happen, I feel that I'm being asked to accept far too many. For instance, Mr. Adair tells us that he wants information about skin-diving for his present book. Very well, one can accept that. But Fairhaven is far from being an ideal place for him to get it. The currents round this part of the coast are far too dangerous for amateurs. But it just
happens
that there is a salvage operation being carried out here in which professional divers are concerned. Did he know that? And if so, has the fact of any importance other than the reason he has given for being here? Or again, did he just take a chance in coming here because there was some other attraction?” and she looked meaningly at Rosemary.

“Aunt Gina!” Anthony expostulated sharply, but Rosemary appeared completely unruffled. She lit a cigarette before answering coolly:

“I think what Mrs. Trevose wants to know is whether Martin came to Fairhaven because he knew I was to be here. The answer to that is no, definitely not. And I can say that with absolute certainty because I’d intended going to Scotland to stay with friends. Then, at the very last moment, that fell through, so I decided to come here.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Trevose said rather lamely. “Of course, in that case—”

But, Fenella thought swiftly, Rosemary hadn’t said who was responsible for her plans having been altered. Mightn’t she, rather than her friends, have changed her mind? And if that was so, was it because she had learned unexpectedly that Martin was to be at Fairhaven?

So just how much did Martin mean to her?

And was Anthony asking himself the same question?

Shortly afterwards, Rosemary left and a little later a Police Inspector and his sergeant arrived, At the Inspector’s request, Fenella described exactly what had happened. He pondered over it thoughtfully and then asked :

“Now, Miss Calder, you say that though you felt sure you were being watched, you didn’t actually see anyone?”

“No, I didn’t,” Fenella said positively. “Not a glimpse. So it may have been my imagination.”

“Yes,” the Inspector agreed, “it could have been. In such circumstances, one’s imagination might get a little too active. But I think we may soon—” he stopped at the sound of an approaching motor bike, and almost immediately the machine, ridden by a young constable, came in sight. The man got off and came towards the group.

“Well?” asked the Inspector.

“Not a sign of it, sir,” the constable replied, evidently understanding just what the query referred to. “But someone’d been there all right—grass crushed down and twigs broken.”

“H’m,” the Inspector commented. “So it wasn’t just your imagination, Miss Calder! No spanner and signs of a visitor! Well, it gets us that much further on, of course, but only in a negative sort of way! If only you’d some idea who it was—”

“No, I’ve told you, I haven’t,” Fenella repeated. “But I can at least tell you some of the people it couldn’t have been.” And she listed the names of the men who had been on the quay when she had brought Martin’s boat in.

“Ah,” said the Inspector slowly. “How does that agree with Mr. Phillips’ list, Willis?”

“The same, so far as it goes, sir.” The sergeant thumbed his notebook back several pages. “Mr. Phillips gave us a couple more names.”

“Ah!” The Inspector stood up. “Well, that’s a help, though again in a negative way. It cuts down the list of possibles. I suppose—” he turned and looked thoughtfully at Fenella, “there’s nothing else you can think of that might be of use to us, Miss Calder? You don’t happen to know if anyone’s been making any threats against Mr. Adair—you do?” sharply as Fenella’s expression changed.

“Not exactly threats, Inspector,” Fenella said carefully. “More just a warning—”

The Inspector listened carefully as she recounted her meeting with Tom Polwyn.

“H’m, well, we'll have to bear that in mind, Miss Calder—”

“Though, of course, it isn’t conclusive,” Anthony remarked quietly. “And more than likely the culprit is some casual tramp who thought he saw a chance to make a bit and lost his head when he saw Mr. Adair—”

“Oh yes,” the Inspector agreed, “it could be that, of course, Mr. Trevose. We’ll be checking on that possibility as well. We never jump to conclusions in our job, you know. Gets you nowhere. Well, I’ll bid you good-day, ladies—” he bowed with clumsy politeness to Mrs. Trevose and Fenella and went off with his men.

“Fenella, you shouldn’t have told him that,” Mrs. Trevose said anxiously when they were out of earshot. “Polwyn’s a very difficult, malicious sort of man. If he finds out you told the Inspector—”

“The Inspector’s not such a fool as to let him find out,” Anthony interpolated. “If I know anything, he’ll work on the list Phillips gave him. And since Polwyn’s name isn’t on it, he’ll have to be questioned along with a good many others. But Fenella did quite right to tell him. Adair might have been killed, Aunt Gina. Had you realised what that means? That there’s a dangerous man about somewhere and the sooner he’s caught the better. It’s up to all of us—”

“What makes you say a
man
, Anthony?” Mrs. Trevose asked very deliberately. “Apparently Mr. Adair had his back to his assailant and was unaware of his presence. Otherwise, of course, he’d have put up a fight, which apparently he didn’t do. So in my opinion, it might just as well have been a woman who did it! ”

“Oh yes,” Fenella answered for Anthony in an unnaturally shrill voice. “Just as well! Don’t you realise, Aunt Gina, it might have been me that did it!"

“You!”

Martin, sitting up in bed, his head bandaged but otherwise looking just his normal self, held up a protesting hand.

“Don’t make me laugh, Fenella. I’m improving daily, but laughing still hurts a bit, though not as much as sneezing. That was sheer hell! ”

“All the same,” Fenella said, doggedly refusing to be side-tracked, “I could have done it—and I’m quite sure it’s a possibility that’s occurred to the Inspector.”

“Oh well, of course, he’s got to suspect everybody,” Martin said casually. “That’s his job. But nobody who knows you well—”

“But do
you
know me well?” Fenella interrupted, smiling and shaking her head. “I don’t see how that’s possible! After all, you’ve only known me for the last few weeks.” ‘

“If I say it seems longer, you’ll think I’m being rude,” Martin pointed out, returning the smile. “But it’s true. I can count the number of times I’ve seen you on the fingers of one hand. And yet—” he took her hand in his and held it lightly so that though she could feel the warmth and strength of it, she had no sense of being held prisoner, “I feel as if there was such an inevitability about our meeting that it’s as if you’ve always been part of my life.” He fell silent and Fenella saw that there was a puzzled look on his face as if he was trying to understand his own feelings. “I suppose you don’t happen to feel like that over me, do you?” he asked curiously.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Fenella admitted apologetically because it sounded rather unkind.

But Martin laughed and patted her hand.

“But why should you?” he asked. “As far as I’m concerned, I’ve just been a confounded nuisance to you, and so, from your point of view, the sooner I get out of hospital and leave the district, the better.”

“Oh,” Fenella said blankly. “Are you going away?”

“It seems the sensible thing to do,” Martin shrugged. “After all, what’s the point of staying? This skelp I had—” he put his hand up and gingerly touched the back of his head—“will, if I take the doctor’s advice, put paid to any more diving for me for an indefinite period.”

“And you will take this advice, won’t you?” Fenella asked anxiously.

Martin looked at her curiously,

“I told you before, and I’ll tell you again, you’re a very nice person, Fenella! Almost from the first you’ve been concerned for my safety. Then you saved my life at some risk to yourself. You come and visit me in hospital, and finally, square one again, you’re anxious for my safety. Yet you don’t really like me! ”

“But I told you before—not liking anyone doesn’t mean you want them to get hit over the head—oh! ” She stared at him with wide, troubled eyes. “How queer that I should have said that! Almost as if I foresaw exactly what was going to happen. Or—or perhaps as if someone overheard me and it put the idea into their head,”

“Not a chance of that,” Martin assured her confidently. “If you remember, we had that conversation on the cabin cruiser, and I very much doubt if anyone could have overheard us, even if they were standing as close as possible on the bank. No, you can put that idea out of your head—you’re not responsible for what has happened either directly or indirectly. Of that I’m absolutely certain.”

Fenella made no reply, and Martin’s expression grew thoughtful.

“Fenella, you’re really worried about this, aren’t you?” he asked gently.

“Not in one way. Not over the Inspector. I mean, he’s a local man and he knows—he understands how people feel round here about strangers who—who—”

“Who go poking their noses into things that don’t concern them?” Martin suggested. “Yes, well, go on—”

“And I think it’s probable he’s got a—a short list of people he thinks might go to the length someone has. Of course, he’s got to consider everybody who could have done it, but I don’t think, really, Fm on his list,” Fenella explained earnestly.

“Then what is it that’s worrying you?” he asked, taking her hand in his again.

“Oh, it’s
you !”
she explained, unconsciously grasping his hand tightly. “You say you know me—but of course you don’t really. And I might have said that about not wanting to hit you over the head simply because it was just what I intended doing. Don’t you see?”

For a moment Martin didn’t reply. Then, very quietly, he said:

“Fenella, will you marry me ?”

Of course she said “No!” because, naturally, one couldn’t take a proposal like that seriously. But that, apparently, was just what Martin intended her to.

“Marriage is quite a serious matter,” he pointed out. “One doesn’t go asking a girl to marry one without devoting a good lot of thought to the matter! ”

“No, I suppose not,” Fenella agreed. “But in some circumstances, one might—might—”

“Yes?” Martin asked encouragingly.

Fenella looked him straight in the face.

“No man would ask a girl to marry him if she thought she’d hit him over the head with a spanner,” she said deliberately. “So it’s very reassuring that you have asked me, isn’t it?”

“It it?” he smiled. “I’m glad if it is. But though I hoped you’d realise that, it wasn’t my only reason for asking you.”

“No?” Fenella said uncertainly.

“No,” Martin said firmly. “But it is why I asked you
now.
I thought it might reassure you, just as it appears to have done. If it hadn’t been for that, I’d have waited until—oh, well, never mind that, though maybe it’s a pity. You might have got round to liking me a bit by then!”

“But I do like you,” Fenella said impulsively to her own surprise. “I didn’t at first, but—”

“But I improve on acquaintance?” Martin asked whimsically. “Well, that’s encouraging, anyway! None the less, I gather it’s not enough to persuade you to marry me?”

Fenella shook her head.

“No, because you see I—I—” she broke off abruptly. How could she possibly explain even to Martin that there wasn’t and never would be a chance of her agreeing to marry him because, of course, it was Anthony that she loved?

“All right, honey, you don’t have to explain to me in words of one syllable,” Martin said with a gentleness that was almost a caress.

“Oh!” Fenella exclaimed breathlessly. “You mean— you’ve guessed—?”

“I told you, after that garden party of yours, that I’d learned to appreciate the ability of most of the locals to hold their tongues because I’d come across one who didn’t—remember?”

“Miss Prosser,” Fenella said faintly.

“Yes, she was a positive mine of information,” Martin said distastefully. “And short of being downright rude, I had to listen to her. My dear, Fm sorry, I honestly didn’t want to pry into your private affairs—”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Fenella said with studied carelessness. “I expect everybody knows, except, of course—”

“A man who’s too big a fool to know his own luck,” Martin said explosively. “No, don’t contradict me. It’s how I feel and it’s small wonder that I do, if you come to think of it! And now let’s drop the whole subject. No—wait a minute, I’ve told you too soon how I feel, and it may be that any time would have been too soon. But I want you to promise me one thing—” he looked at her enquiringly.

"Yes?” Fenella asked uncertainly.

Martin smiled.

“Oh, nothing very drastic. Just that if the time ever comes when I can be of use to you in any way—in
any
way, remember—then you’ll let me know. Promise?”

“But it wouldn’t be fair—” Fenella objected.

Rubbish! ” Martin scoffed cheerfully. “Of course it is!”

“Well, all right then,” Fenella promised.

She arrived back at Lyon House in a strange mood—a mood of contradictions and anomalies.

Strongest of all was the feeling of exhilaration—yet why should she feel exhilarated because the wrong man had asked her to marry him? It didn’t make sense.

An then why had he asked her? Because he loved her? He hadn’t said so though he had made it clear that she mattered tremendously to him in a very
personal
way. It wasn’t, like Anthony, that he’d decided it was time he got married and the first suitable and likeable girl would do. No, it had to be
her
—yet how she knew that so surely puzzled her.