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Mrs. Adair, as regards appearance, was the absolute opposite of her husband. She was short and plump and while his hair had retained its colour to a large extent, hers was silvery white. Apart from their physical appearance, however, they had grown extraordinarily alike in thought and manner.

They had been sitting reading in the garden when Fenella and Martin arrived and as they stood up and came forward to greet their visitors, Fenella noticed that Mrs. Adair limped a little.

When the greetings and introductions were over, Mrs. Adair took Fenella back to the house through which they had walked and showed her to her room.

It wasn’t particularly large or very lavishly furnished, but it sparkled with the charm of freshness and a certain essential rightness that made Fenella exclaim with pleasure.

“Bo you like it?" Mrs. Adair asked smilingly. “It isn’t very smart or modern, I'm afraid—in fact, the curtains are downright shabby, but we can't find anything in the shops that we like half so well, so they just stay here! And as for the furniture—" she laid her hand affectionately on the top of a small serpentine chest of drawers— “If it weren't for my Mrs. Disher who polishes it so faithfully, you’d see just how battered it is! Now, I mustn't keep you talking, my dear, because I expect you’d like to freshen up before lunch. Oh, here’s Martin with your cases. That’s right, dear, on the stand at the foot of the bed! Lunch in about a quarter of an hour, Fenella, but we’ll have a drink before it's served.”

Left alone, Fenella gave another quick, appreciative look round the room. Then she went to the window.

Ayresford was a pleasant little town of some antiquity and, as Fenella found out later in the day, having more antique shops for its size than one would have thought possible. Many of the houses, of which the Adairs’ was one, were Georgian and of considerable charm. They fronted directly on to the broad street, and this was the view that Fenella had from her window. She watched the bustle of activity that was going on with fascinated eyes—the sheep being driven by a watchful collie-dog, the huge lorry, looking very much out of place in such a setting and in some trouble, on account of its size, as it tried to back into a narrow side lane; women with shopping baskets and men standing at street corners talking, a jet suddenly tearing the skies apart with its whining scream—it was the world in miniature and it held all the charm of the unfamiliar to Fenella. It was hard to tear herself away, but it had to be done. She mustn't keep the Adairs waiting.

Hurriedly she washed, freshened her very modest make-up and ran a comb through her hair. Then she ran downstairs and found a smiling Martin waiting for her at the bottom. He held out his hand to her and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to put hers into it. And so they went into the drawing room where Mr. Adair was fussing happily with the drinks. When he had supplied them all, he led the way out to the garden where Mrs. Adair was sitting gazing contentedly at some ducks swimming in the river which ran along at the foot of the sloping garden. She turned as they joined her and smiled at Fenella.

“You know, I do think water improves the scenery, don’t you?” and when Fenella agreed that she did, she went on: “Of course, you have both the sea and the river, haven’t you?”

“I can see the estuary from my bedroom window, and the sea from my little study,” Fenella explained. “Lyon House stands right on the headland.”

‘Yes, I remember,” Mrs. Adair said, rather to Fenella’s surprise. “A big white house in lovely grounds. Gregory and I spent our honeymoon in Fairhaven. It’s always been a place that interested his family, of course. You know—” she laughed with youthful amusement— “I had a daydream of being the one who found the miniature—I thought how much it would please Gregory. But of course I never did! And it doesn’t look as if Martin is going to find it either,” she added with a sigh.

“Don’t you be so sure, Mother,” Martin advised her. “I’ve got an idea—not so much that I’ll find it as that it will turn up in the not very distant future!
And
I’ve got a suspicion that I know who will be responsible for that! ”

“Have you, my dear? That would be delightful—at least, so long as it didn’t mean that you were attacked again!” And for a moment her eyes widened and Fenella saw the stark fear in them. Or thought she did. It went so quickly that she couldn’t be entirely sure—

After lunch, Mrs. Adair went to her room for a short rest while Mr. Adair announced that he was going for a walk and courteously asked Martin and Fenella if they would like to come with him or whether they had plans of their own.

“I have, rather,” Martin admitted. “I want to take her to see the Abbot’s fishponds—they ought to look lovely just now
—"

“And I would so like to look at the town," Fenella amplified.

“It’s well worth looking at,” Mr. Adair told her. “To my mind, one of the nicest towns of this size you’d come across in a week’s travel. And not spoiled, the way so many towns are, with having too many sightseers. Well, enjoy yourselves!” He smiled, fetched Fenella a cheery salute and was off. Martin’s eyes followed him affectionately. .

“He’s a great chap,” he remarked almost as if he was talking to himself. “D’you know, Fenella, I’ve never heard him say an unkind thing about anybody, and that doesn’t mean he shuts his eyes to all the rotten things that go on. It’s just that somehow even with the toughest types he manages to see something good in them—and brings it out I’ve got all the time in the world for my father!”

“And your mother?” Fenella said softly.

Martin looked at her swiftly and smiled in a pleased way.

“Ah, you’ve fallen for her already, have you?” he said. “I’m not surprised! Everybody does. When I was a kid I used to tell her that when I grew up, I’d marry her! And since, when I grew up, I found that I couldn’t do that, I made up my mind that somehow or other. I’d find a girl as near like her as possible! ”

Fenella didn’t reply. She had a feeling that he didn’t quite realise just what he had said or that she was hardly the person to whom he should have said it, and she had no wish to embarrass him by pointing it out. For a moment Martin seemed to be thinking deeply. Then, as if he was suddenly aware of her presence, he suggested that they should start.

It was about a mile, mostly downhill, to the Abbot’s ponds. Fenella exclaimed with delight at the chain of half a dozen pools, rather overgrown now with reeds and wild flowers, but perhaps all the more beautiful for that. Occasionally they would hear a little “plop” as a fish broke surface, but what delighted Fenella most was the little moorhens with their still tinier chicks, valiantly paddling in their parents’ wake.

“They’re so
tiny
!” she explained compassionately. “It must seem a tremendous world to them!”

She could have stayed there indefinitely, but Martin appeared to be in a restless mood and abruptly suggested that they should start back so that they could take their time looking at the little town without feeling any need to hurry.

It was then that Fenella discovered how many antique shops Ayresford had.

“Eight!” she counted triumphantly. “And there’s at least one thing in every single shop that I’d like to have.”

Martin laughed.

“You’re as bad as Mother,” he told her tolerantly. “Father says it’s only safe for her to come out on an early closing day—but it doesn’t make any difference. If he sees that she really likes something, he goes in the next day and buys it! What catches your fancy here, lady?”

“That!” Fenella said promptly, pointing to an old-fashioned fireman’s helmet made of glittering brass. “And that!” indicating a Wedgwood Jubilee mug. Then, ecstatically: “Oh,
Martin!
”

“Now what?”

“Over on that dish of jewellery—don’t you see? That heart-shaped amethyst ring with the little diamonds round it! It’s one of the most attractive pieces of jewellery I’ve ever seen!”

Martin stared at the ring in silence for several moments. Certainly it was charming—

“Victorian, I should think,” he commented. ‘You really like it, Fenella?”

“Oh, I do!” she said emphatically.

“I suppose—you wouldn’t prefer it to a modem engagement ring?” he asked doubtfully. “It looks about your size.”

“Martin! ” The bright colour stained her face. “I wasn’t hinting, truly I wasn’t!”

Marin laughed.

“I never for a moment suspected that you were,” he assured her. “And to stop you giving it another thought, it would cost a lot less than a new one. So, if you really like it—”

“I really do,” she confirmed earnestly. “I shall treasure it far more—” and stopped short because, of course, it wouldn’t be hers to treasure very long. She would have to give it back to Martin—

But if he appreciated why she had stopped in the middle of her sentence, he gave no sign of it.

“That seems to settle it, then,” he said matter-of-factly, and opened the shop door for her to go in.

At Martin’s request, the ring was produced from the window. Fenella took off Martin’s signet ring that she had been wearing, and held out her hand to him. He slipped the amethyst on and it fitted perfectly.

“Obviously meant for you!’
^!
he remarked. -“Yes, we’ll have that, thank you,” he told the shopkeeper. “Now, about that fireman’s helmet—”

“Oh no, Martin, you mustn’t!" Fenella besought him. “I was only joking, please, please don’t!'

But Martin was adamant.

“I’m buying it for myself,” he insisted. “As a youngster I always wanted to be a fireman. And if I can’t be one, at least I can pretend I’m one in this! No, don’t wrap it up, I’m going to wear it!"

And wear it he did, to the considerable amusement of passers-by and his own complete satisfaction.

“Rather hot and heavy," he admitted. “But I’m just about cosh-proof in it! I shall wear it at Fairhaven. It ought to discourage even the most optimistic cosher!”

The smile died from Fenella’s face.

“Martin, do you think they’ll ever find out who did it
^?
”

“Oh yes,” he said with complete conviction. “That’ll come with all the rest.”

Fenella looked at him wonderingly.

“You know, sometimes I think you must be a bit fey,'’ she told him.

“Sometimes I think it myself,” he said quite seriously. “But other times, I’m not so sure as I’d like to be!"

The trip to London was a great success. Fenella, with very modest notions of her own ability, was pleasantly surprised at the terms Martin’s publisher offered her—so pleased, indeed, that she made no attempt to hide the fact, much to the amusement of both Martin and Mr. Thoms.

“You ought to have said it wasn’t enough,” Martin told her reproachfully. “Don’t you know it’s the first rule in a business deal never to accept the first offer?”

“Is it?” Fenella asked innocently. “Did you haggle over the terms Mr. Thoms offered you for your first book?”

Again the two men laughed.

“That’s one in the eye for you, my boy! ” Mr. Thoms said appreciatively. “Now, Miss Calder, we expect the book to run to about a hundred and eighty—perhaps ninety—pages. We’ll want an illustration to head each chapter—eleven, you said, didn’t you, Martin? Yes. And then something for every fourth or fifth page to fit the matter on that page. Now, so far, the book’s still in manuscript and naturally runs to a different number of pages from what the book will contain. But with the figures I’ve given you, you ought to be able to work it out. I’d like to have them in a couple of months’ time— if you think you’ll have finished it by then?” with an enquiring look at Martin.

“I’ll have finished it, one way or the other,” Martin said grimly.

Their second evening at Ayresford was even more enjoyable than the first. For one thing, Fenella had had the delightful feeling that she was coming home, and the Adairs’ pleasure at her success was so sincere and unstinted that she almost cried with happiness.

It was not until the following morning as she said her goodbyes to her host and hostess that her high spirits faded.

They said: “Come again, dear. As soon as you like and whenever you like!” But Fenella, knowing how unlikely it was that she would ever visit them again, could find nothing to say in reply.

It was a very silent journey. At first Fenella, buried in her own thoughts, didn’t notice how preoccupied Martin was. Then, suddenly, she realised that he was gripping the wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. She looked at the keen line of his profile and saw how tense he was—

“Martin, what’s wrong?” she asked anxiously. “Tell me, please.”

For a moment he hesitated. Then, in a queer, strained voice he said:

“You told me you thought I was fey, didn’t you? Well, I could hope you’re wrong, because I’ve got a conviction that while we’ve been away, something’s happened at Fairhaven.”

“Something—bad?” Fenella whispered apprehensively.

“I don’t know,” he said restlessly. “But certainly something that will bring changes—”

An hour later they arrived at Lyon House. Anthony came out to meet them and one glance at his face made it clear that Martin had been right.

Something
had
happened while they’d been away.

ALMOST before the car stopped Fenella jumped out and ran towards Anthony, her hands outstretched.

“What is it?” she demanded, clutching at his sleeve and shaking it. “What’s happened?”

“Here, steady on, old lady,” Anthony admonished. “It’s not as bad as that. Only-—rather disconcerting.”

Martin had joined them now and as Anthony took a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket, Martin
put his
arm round Fenella’s shoulders to steady her.

“I was away from the house for several hours this morning,” Anthony explained. “When I got back, about an hour ago, I found this waiting for me.” Apprehensively Fenella took the paper from him and she and Martin read the few lines written in Mrs. Trevose’s neat hand: