KINDELL RETURNED TO London by air, and on an understanding that he should not be seen in his familiar haunts, nor make contact with his friends. The sleuths of law were hunting on a cold scent which at any moment might become hot. It was important to confuse those whom they sought to catch. Let them think him still in the grasp of the examining magistrate - the one chosen by the police to expiate the worst crime of which policemen know, the murder of one of themselves.

Kindell might be of some immediate use, and at any moment a position might develop in which he could be of much more. But it was emphatically understood that he was to lie low.

His action in telephoning Irene cannot therefore be condoned. He did evil, and it was not even a doing of evil that good might come. Or, at least, the good, if any, was to be of a private sort, having no connection with the business he was engaged to do. The consequences, which he was far from foreseeing, cannot therefore be a logical credit to him. Yet, whether for evil or good his action was of momentous bearing on the events that followed.

Irene picked up the 'phone in her own room (she had a separate line, intended to ensure the privacy of embassy conversations, rather than hers), and the temper in which she answered was not good, for her wrist-watch, which she was putting on as the bell rang, slipped to the floor, having been insecurely clasped.

"Yes. Who is it?"

"Is that you, Irene?"

"Yes. Who's that?"

"Are you quite alone?"

"Who is that?"

"I want to know whether you're quite alone."

"And I want to know who you are."

"Can't you guess?"

"I don't see why I should. . . . It isn't Will, is it?"

"You're not being overheard?"

"Considering I'm in my own room, and it's between seven and eight - - "

"Will you meet me somewhere for lunch?"

"It really is Will?"

"Yes. But I wish you wouldn't keep saying my name."

"What's the mystery?"

"I'm not supposed to be here. What I asked was, can you meet me for lunch? And not let anyone know?"

"I might, if I knew why. Where shall it be?"

"You know where we met the Tuesday before you went over to Paris. Say a quarter to one?"

"You mean at - - "

"There's no need to say where," he interrupted sharply. "And there's no need for me to come, if you can't - - "

"I'll be waiting there. Right at the back."

He rang off abruptly.

Irene picked up her watch. She looked rather pleased with the world when she heard that it still ticked, but she frowned uncertainly over the proposed appointment. Had he discovered the contents of the substituted suitcase? How much had she to excuse or explain? Were they to meet as friends, or would they continue the quarrel in which they parted?

Well, he had approached her! She debated with herself whether she would go, but she knew all the time what the answer would be. Curiosity alone would have been enough to direct her steps. And there were other deeper, less acknowledged feelings which would be even more potent. But it was uncertain, when they should meet, what her mood would be.

So, with some restlessness of impatience, the mornin............