“It’s an obvious conclusion,” I said, “so it did occur to me.”

“What do you think happened to your sister?”

“I don’t know, except that she would never have gone away without saying where.”

“And Edith?”

“Edith too.”

“And you feel the two are connected?”

“It seems likely.”

“Has it occurred to you that Edith discovered something…some clue that might have thrown light on your sister’s death? If this were so…what of you yourself who are boldly attempting to do the same thing? Shouldn’t you be careful? You should not hunt alone…ah, but then Godfrey Wilmot hunts with you, doesn’t he?”

“You can hardly call it that.”

“But he knows who you are.”

I nodded.

“You told him although you kept the secret from the rest of us.”

I shook my head. “He knew who I was as soon as he saw me.”

“And confessed it? Of course he is frank and open…unlike some.”

“It was all so spontaneous. He knew me at once, and I was grateful that he did not betray me.”

“I have kept the knowledge to myself. Are you grateful to me?”

“Thank you.”

“You know,” he said looking intently at me, “that I would do anything to help you.” I did not answer and he insisted: “You do believe that?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad. If we could solve our mysteries there is a great deal I could say to you. You know that too? So that it is as important to me…perhaps more so…to find the answers to these riddles.”

I was afraid suddenly of what he might say next and I was perhaps afraid of my own response. When I was with him I was fascinated by him; it was only when he was not there that I could view him coolly and dispassionately.

He seemed to understand this for he did not pursue it and went on: “I saw your sister once or twice. She was passionately dedicated. She lived in that cottage all alone.”

“I came and stayed with her for a few nights.”

“How strange! You were so close and we did not meet.”

“It was hardly strange. I daresay there were many people on the dig whom you didn’t see.”

“I was not thinking of many people…but of you. And you have come no nearer to discovering what happened to her than you were when you arrived?”

“Godfrey Wilmot thinks she may have made some fantastic archaeological discovery of which some other archaeologist was jealous. I think that is extremely far-fetched.”

He looked at me earnestly. “You must tell me if you discover anything that you think is leading you to the solution. You must let me help you. You must remember that if these two disappearances are connected it is of vital importance to me to discover the connection.”

“Nothing would please me more than to find the truth.”

“Then I can hope that we shall be together…in this?”

“Yes,” I said, “let us be together in this.”

He reached out as though to touch me, but I turned away, pretending not to notice, and said I must return to the house.


* * *

Sybil had worked herself into a passion about the gypsies. She could talk of nothing else and seemed even to have forgotten her painting. She stalked about the house murmuring to herself of their shortcomings.

Sir William’s health had improved during the last weeks. I expected a fresh outbreak of that quarrel between himself and Napier, but I heard nothing, and it occurred to me that Sir William realized how useful Napier was on the estate and had decided to make the best of the state of affairs as it stood. Not a very desirable set of circumstances but better than violent quarreling.

My walled garden was a favorite spot of Sir William’s and for that reason I now avoided it. His usual practice was to sit there for an hour every morning. Mrs. Lincroft would bring him out and wrap him about with rugs and precisely an hour later would come out to bring him back into the house.

The first time I discovered him there Sybil was with him. I heard her voice as she talked to him.

“You’ve got to clear them off the land,” she was shouting. “They bode no good. Look at the last time you let them stay. That girl came to work in the kitchens and look where that led us.”

“Sybil, be quiet,” said Sir William. “Don’t raise your voice so.”

“You always said you wouldn’t have them here. What are you going to do about it?”

“Sybil…be quiet. Be quiet.”

I turned away and as I did so I came face to face with Mrs. Lincroft. She gave me a hasty glance and ran into the walled garden.

“Miss Stacy,” she said, “please don’t worry Sir William. He is not well enough.”

“And who are you?” cried Sybil. “Don’t tell me. I know. It’s disgraceful. You regard yourself as mistress of this house, don’t you? But let me tell you this, you may be his mistress but you are not the mistress of this house. You are encouraging those gypsies to stay. Why? Because that girl Serena knows too much, that’s why.”

I walked away thinking: She is mad. Why did I ever listen to her nonsense? I have foolishly allowed her to influence me, when all the time she is living in a fantastic world of her own.

A few minutes later I saw Mrs. Lincroft wheeling Sir William into the house, her face flushed, her eyes downcast.


* * *

But Sir William did listen to his sister. He declared that he would not have the gypsies encamping on his land and to Sybil’s delight issued orders that they were to go.

Napier had joined his voice to Mrs. Lincroft’s and there had been a noisy scene which I heard the girls discussing.

“They will go,” Allegra had said, “because Grandfather has said they will. He is the master here. My father and Mrs. Lincroft are both against it.”

“My mother thinks they should go,” said Sylvia. “She says it’s a disgrace to the neighborhood. They spoil the countryside and steal chickens and they ought to go.”

“Well I think it’s a shame,” declared Allegra.

Alice shrugged her shoulders philosophically and said that the gypsies could find another pleasant place to have their camp and it would be better for everyone if they went.

Later when I was alone with Sylvia she looked slyly over her shoulders and whispered to me: “My mother said that the only two who want the gypsies here are Mrs. Lincroft and Mr. Napier and the reason is the gypsy woman is blackmailing them.”

“I shouldn’t spread a rumor like that Sylvia if I were you,” I said quickly.

“I wouldn’t spread it. I’m just telling you, Mrs. Verlaine. But that’s what my mother says. Napier was that woman’s lover once and she is Allegra’s mother. My mother thinks that’s very regrettable and that things like that shouldn’t be allowed to happen. As for Mrs. Lincroft…my mother says she’s a mystery and she doesn’t believe there ever was a Mr. Lincroft.”

“I should keep that to yourself too, Sylvia,” I said; and I thought that she was the least attractive of the girls. “Come along, we’re forgetting your practice.”


* * *

The battle with the gypsies continued and Sir William had now committed himself to the attack. Mrs. Lincroft was very uneasy; so was Napier; and I was beginning to believe that the gypsy woman had threatened them with exposure if they did not fight her tribe’s battle for shelter on the Lovat Stacy land.

Then came that morning of revelation.

I was in the walled garden when Mrs. Lincroft wheeled in Sir William. I was about to leave when he detained me and suggested that I remain and talk to him for a while. He wanted me to talk about music.

So I sat beside him and Mrs. Lincroft remained while we conversed. He wanted to assure me how he enjoyed my performances on the late Lady Stacy’s piano. He was often asleep when I finished, he knew; but that meant I had soothed him and that he had found my performance deeply satisfying.

We were talking thus peacefully when I was suddenly aware—one split second before the others—that someone had come into the courtyard. It was Serena, the gypsy.

Then Mrs. Lincroft saw her. She started up with a little cry and said: “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see Sir William. How d’you do, Sir William. It’s not easy to get to see you, but you can’t help that, can you?”

“What does the woman want?” asked Sir William.

“You know who she is?” whispered Mrs. Lincroft.

I rose and started to move away but the gypsy cried: “No, you’re to stay, ma’am. I want you to hear this, too. I’ve got my reasons.”

I looked askance at Mrs. Lincroft who nodded and I sat down again. The color in Sir William’s face had deepened to an alarming purple.

“Now, are you going to stop ordering us off your land, sir?”

“No, I am not,” retorted Sir William. “You’ll be gone by tomorrow night or I’ll have the police on you.”

“I don’t think you will,” said Serena insolently. She was standing with her hands on her hips, her legs slightly apart, her head thrown back. “You’ll be sorry if you don’t stop that order right away and that’s a fact.”

“Sorry!” he demanded. “Is that blackmail?”

“You! To talk of blackmail, you old rogue! I reckon you’re no better than the rest of us.”

Mrs. Lincroft rose. “I can’t have Sir William upset.”

“You can’t? And you can’t have yourself upset either. But you’ve got to do what I want or you will. Oh I know I’m poor. I know I don’t live in this mansion here, but I’ve got a right to live where I want, same as anyone else…and if you try to stop me you’re going to be sorry…both of you.”

Mrs. Lincroft looked at me. “I’ll take Sir William in now,” she said.