I opened the door and called for Vita. She came running up the stairs at once, and I realised, with a sense of shame and guilt, what she must have been through during the past week. Her face was drained of colour and she had lost weight. Her hair, usually immaculate, was swept back with a hasty comb behind her ears, and there was a strained, unhappy look in her eyes that I had never seen before.

"He told me you had agreed to come away," she said. "It was his idea, not mine, I promise you. I only want to do what's best for you."

"I know that, I said. He's absolutely right."

"You're not angry, then? I was so afraid you'd be angry." She came and sat beside me on the bed, and I put my arm round her.

"You must promise me one thing," I said, "and that is to forget everything that's happened up to now. I know it's practically impossible, but I do ask you."

"You've been ill. I know why, the doctor explained it all," she said. "He told the boys too, and they understand. We none of us blame you for anything, darling. We just want you to get well and to be happy."

"They're not frightened of me?"

"Heavens, no. They were very sensible about it. They've both been so good and helpful, Teddy especially. They're devoted to you, darling, I don't think you realise that."

"Oh, yes, I do," I said, "which makes it all the worse. But never mind that now. When are we supposed to be off?"

She hesitated. "Doctor Powell said you'd be fit to travel by Friday, and he told me to go ahead and get the tickets. Friday… The day after tomorrow."

"O.K." I said, "if that's what he says. I suppose I'd better move about a bit to get myself in trim. Sort out some things to pack."

"As long as you don't overdo it. I'll send Teddy up to help you."

She left me with the best part of a week's mail, and by the time I'd been through it, and chucked most of it into the waste-paper basket, Teddy had appeared at the door.

"Mom said you might like some help with your packing," he said shyly.

"Good lad, I would. I hear you've been head of the house for the past week, and doing a fine job."

He flushed with pleasure. "Oh, I don't know. I haven't done much. Answered the phone a few times. There was a man called up yesterday, asked if you were better and sent his regards. A Mr. Willis. He left his number, in case you wanted to ring him. And he left another number too. I wrote them both down."

He brought out a shiny black notebook and tore out a page. I recognised the first number — it was Magnus's lab — but the other one baffled me.

"Is this second one his home number, or didn't he say?" I asked.

"Yes, he did say. It's someone called Davies, who works at the British Museum. He thought you might like to get in touch with Mr. Davies before he went on holiday."

I put the torn page in my pocket, and went along with Teddy to the dressing-room. The divan bed had gone, and I realised what the dragging sound had signified the night the doctor came: the bed had been moved into the double room and put under the window.

"Micky and I have been sleeping in here with Mom," said Teddy. "She felt she wanted company."

It was a delicate way of putting that she wanted protection. I left him in the dressing-room pulling things out of the wardrobe, and picked up the telephone receiver beside the bed.

The voice that answered me, precise and rather reserved, assured me the owner's name was Davies.

"I'm Richard Young," I told him, "a friend of the late Professor Lane. You know all about me, I believe."

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Young, I hope you are better. I heard through John Willis that you'd been laid up."

"That's right. Nothing serious. But I'm going away, and I gather you are too, so I wondered if you had anything for me."

"Unfortunately nothing very much, I'm afraid. If you'll excuse me a moment, I'll just get my notes and read them out to you."

I waited, while he put down the receiver. I had the uncomfortable feeling that I was cheating, and that Doctor Powell would have disapproved.

"Are you there, Mr. Young?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"I hope you won't be disappointed. They are only extracts from the Registers of Bishop Grandisson of Exeter, one dated 1334, the second 1335. The first relates to Tywardreath Priory, and the second to Oliver Carminowe. The first is a letter from the Bishop at Exeter to the Abbot of the sister-house at Angers, and reads as follows: 'John, etc., Bishop of Exeter, sends greeting with true kindness of thought in the Lord. Inasmuch as we expel from our fold the diseased sheep which is wont to spread its disorder, lest it should infect our other healthy sheep, so in the case of Brother Jean, called Meral, a monk of your monastery at present living in the Priory of Tywardreath in our diocese, which is ruled by a Prior of the Order of Saint Benedict, on account of his outrageous abandonment of all shame and decent behaviour, in spite of frequent kindly admonitions — and because, alas, as I am ashamed to say (not to mention his other notorious offences), he has nevertheless become more hardened in his wickedness — we have therefore, with all zeal and reverence for your order and for yourself arranged to send him back to you to be subjected to the discipline of the monastery for this evil behaviour. May God Himself maintain you in the rule of this flock in length of days and health.'"

He cleared his throat. "The original is in Latin, you understand. This is my translation. I couldn't help thinking, as I copied it out, how the phrasing would have appealed to Professor Lane."

"Yes," I said, "it would."

He cleared his throat again. "The second piece is very short, and may not interest you. It is only that on April 21st, 1335, Bishop Grandisson received Sir Oliver Carminowe and his wife Sybell, who had been clandestinely married without banns or licence. They confirmed that they had erred through ignorance. The Bishop relaxed the sentences imposed upon them and confirmed the marriage, which seems to have taken place at some previous date, not stated, in Sir Oliver's private chapel at Carminowe, in the parish of Mawgan-in-Meneage. Proceedings were taken against the priest who married them. That's all."

"Does it say what had happened to the previous wife, Isolda?"

"No. I presume she died, possibly a short while before, and this other marriage was clandestine because it took place so soon after her death. Perhaps Sybell was pregnant, and a private ceremony seemed necessary to save face. I'm sorry, Mr. Young, but I haven't been able to turn up anything else."

"Don't worry, I said. What you've told me is very valuable. Have a good holiday."

"Thank you. The same to you." I put down the receiver. Teddy was calling to me from the dressing-room.

"Dick?"

"Yes?"

He came through from the bathroom with Magnus's walking-stick in his hands.

Will you be taking this with you? he asked. It's too long to fit into your suitcase.

I had not seen the stick since I had poured into it the colourless liquid from bottle C nearly a week ago. I had forgotten all about it.

"If you don't want it", said Teddy, "I'll put it back in the cupboard where I found it."

"No," I said, "give it to me. I do want it."

He pretended to take aim at me, smiling, holding it balanced like a spear, then lobbed it gently in the air. I caught it and held it fast.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

WE SAT IN the lounge at Exeter airport waiting for our flight to be called. Take-off was twelve-thirty. The Buick was parked behind the airport, to remain there until our return, whenever that should be. I got sandwiches for all of us, and while we ate them cast an eye over our fellow-travellers. There were flights that afternoon for the Channel Isles as well as Dublin, and the lounge facing the airfield was filled with people. There were a number of priests returning from some convocation, a party of schoolchildren, family parties such as our own, and the usual sprinkling of holiday types. There was also a hilarious sextet who, from their conversation, were on their way to, or from, a riotous wedding.

"I hope", said Vita, "we aren't going to find ourselves beside that lot on the plane."

The boys were already doubled up with laughter, for one of the group had donned a false nose and a moustache, which he kept dipping into his glass of Guinness, to emerge beaded with froth.

"The thing to do", I said, "is to leap to our feet as soon as our flight is called, so that we can get right up to the front, well away from them."

"If that man with the false nose tries to sit beside me, I shall scream," said Vita.

Her remark set the boys off again, and I congratulated myself on having ordered generous rations of cider for the boys and brandy and soda — our holiday drink — for Vita and myself, because it was that, more than the wedding party, which was making the boys giggle and causing Vita to squint as she peered in her powder-compact. I kept a close watch on the plane on the runway, until I saw that it was loaded. They were pulling the baggage trucks away, and a hostess was walking across the tarmac to our door. "Damn!" I said. "I knew it was a mistake to swill all that coffee and brandy. Look, darling, I must rush to the gents. If they call the flight go ahead and get seats in front, as I said. If I'm caught up in the mob I'll find myself a seat at the back and change places after take-off. As long as you three are together you'll be all right. Here — you take your boarding cards and I'll hang on to mine, just in case."