't time," I pleaded. "We got on to scent almost at once."

"Why scent?" said Jonah. "Or is that an indiscreet question?"

"Oh, that's easy," said Berry. "The scent was on the handkerchief he
picked up. It's been done before."

"I don't understand," said Jill.

"I'm glad you don't, darling. One expert in the family is bad enough."
He nodded at me. "I used to think I was useful, till I'd seen that
Mormon at work. Talk about getting off.... Why, he'd click at a
jumble sale."

"Would he really?" said Adele interestedly. "I'd no idea he was so
enterprising."

Berry shrugged his shoulders.

"My dear," he said, "he's a blinkin' marvel. Where you and I 'ld be
standing outside a stage-door with a nervous grin and a bag of jujubes,
he'd walk straight up TO a Marchioness, say, 'I feel I must tell you
that you've got a mouth in a million,' and--_get away with it_. But
there you are. In the present case----"

"--for once in a way," said Adele, "the lady seems to have made the
running." She turned to me with a smile. "Well, Juan me lad, tell us
some more about her. Was she fair or dark?"

I nodded at Berry.

"Better ask him," I said. "He knows more about it than I do."

"She was dark," said Berry unhesitatingly. "A tall willowy wench, with
Continental eyes and an everlasting pout. Am I right, sir?"

"You may be," said I. "Not having seen the damsel...."

There was an outburst of incredulous objection.

"Sorry," I added, "but the liaison was conducted upon the telephone.
Just now. When I ordered the paper. The lady had no idea she was
giving me counsel. So, you see, we're both blameless. And now may I
have a match?"

"Well, I am disappointed," announced Adele. "I quite thought we were
off."

"So did I," said Daphne. "And you never even---- Oh, it's spoiled my
tea."

Even Jill protested that I had "led them on."

In some dudgeon, I began to wonder if I should ever understand women.

* * * * *

An hour and a half had slipped by.

Ready for dinner with twenty minutes to spare, I had descended to the
lounge. There a large writing-table had suggested the propriety of
sending a postcard to the sweetest of aunts, who, in the absence of
evidence to the contrary, invariably presumed our death after fourteen
days.

There being no postcards available, I started a letter....

For a page and a half my pen ran easily enough, and then, for no reason
whatever, my epis