thing like that. Not English. I can't remember."

"Ah!"

Berry took up the running.

"You say the merchant was prodding the ground?" he said.

"That's right. It sounds silly, but----"

"Not at all," said Berry excitedly. "He was looking for something. It's
as clear as daylight." He turned to the picture. "That's William
Pleydell, isn't it, Vandy? Seventeenth-century bloke. The one Pepys
mentions."

My cousin nodded abstractedly. With unseeing eyes he was staring out of
a window. It was patent that Adele's recital had affected him
strangely....

Berry laid a hand on his arm.

"Where's the book you wrote?" he said gently. "That may throw some light
on it."

One of our hostesses turned, as though she would fetch the volume.

"It went to be rebound yesterday," cried Vandy in a strained,
penetrating voice.

His sister stopped and stood still in her tracks. A moment later she had
turned back and was murmuring a confirmation.

Jonah, who had been busy with a pencil and the back of an envelope,
limped towards us from one of the windows.

"The pedestal was a sundial," he said. Vandy looked at him sharply. He
turned to Adele. "PER ... IMP ... you said. Try PEREUNT ET IMPUTANTUR.
Latin. 'The hours pass and are charged against us.' You'll find the
phrase on five sundials out of six."

A buzz of excited applause greeted this admirable contribution.

Adele looked at the written words. "You are clever," she said. "Of
course, that's it. It must be."

Vandy's reception of Jonah's discovery convinced me that it had already
occurred to him. He applauded theatrically. The fellow was playing a
part, feverishly. Besides, I did not believe his rotten book was being
rebound. That was a lie. There was something there which he did not want
us to see. Not a doubt of it. Well, we had a copy at White Ladies. No!
Our copy was in Town. Hang it! What a sweep the man was!

With a horse-laugh he interrupted my reflections.

"Well, well, Miss Feste, I confess you gave me a shock. Still, if you
had to meet one of our forefathers, I could have wished it had been any
other than the notorious William. We enjoy his portrait, but we deplore
his memory. Ha! Ha! Now, we're really proud of the next one--his cousin,
James Godstow Pleydell. He it was who was responsible----"

"Forgive me," purred Daphne, "but I'm going to say we must fly. I'd no
idea it was so late. People are coming to dinner, and we must go back by
Brooch, because we've r