unravel her mystery, while I slip off and put a few
straight questions to Jimmy Kinsella. Be as polite as you possibly can
so as to disarm suspicion."

Priscilla began the course of diplomatic politeness herself.

"We're delighted to see you," she said. "My name is Priscilla Lentaigne,
and my cousin is Frank Mannix. We're out for a picnic."

"My name," said the lady, "is Rutherford, Martha Rutherford. I'm out
after sponges."

"Sponges!" said Frank.

Priscilla winked at him. The statement about the sponges was obviously
untrue. There is no sponge fishery in Rosnacree Bay. There never has
been. Miss Rutherford, so to speak, intercepted Priscilla's wink.

"By sponges," she said, "I mean----"

"Won't you sit down?" said Priscilla.

She picked her stockings from the gunwale of the boat, leaving a clear
space beside Miss Rutherford.

"Bother!" she said, "the dye out of the purple clocks has run. That's
the worst of purple clocks. I half suspected it would at the time, but
Sylvia Courtney insisted on my buying them. She said they looked chic.
Would you care for anything to eat, Miss Rutherford?"

"I'm nearly starved. That's why I came over here. I thought you might
have some food."

"We've lots," said Priscilla. "Frank will give it to you. I'll just step
across and speak to Jimmy Kinsella. I want to hear about the baby."

"I'm afraid," said Miss Rutherford, when Priscilla left them, "that your
cousin doesn't believe me about the sponges."

Frank felt deeply ashamed of Priscilla's behaviour. The prefect in him
reasserted itself now that he was in the presence of a grown-up lady. He
felt it necessary to apologise.

"She's very young," he said, "and I'm afraid she's rather foolish.
Little girls of that age----"

He intended to say something of a paternal kind, something which would
give Miss Rutherford the impression that he had kindly undertaken the
care of Priscilla during the day in order to oblige those ordinarily
responsible for her. A curious smile, which began to form at the corners
of Miss Rutherford's lips and a sudden twinkling of her eyes, stopped
him abruptly.

"I hope you'll excuse my not standing up," he said, "I've sprained my
ankle."

"I'd like to get in and sit beside you if I may," said Miss Rutherford.
"Now for the food."

"There's some cold tongue," said Frank.

"Capital. I love cold tongue."

"But--I'm afraid--" He fished it out from beneath the thwart, "--it may be
rather grubby."