shed, but I don't think we need
trouble about that. The morning papers everywhere are publishing a
description of him, and all outgoing trains and motors are being
watched, as well as the boats in the harbour. There is not much chance
of his getting away."

She nodded with a degree of relief. Then with a sort of hesitation she
said:

"Tell me, Roger. Do you suppose he knew about
Therese's--accident--before he left the villa this morning?"

Roger frowned.

"Knew? Dido, one of the most ghastly things about this whole affair is
that he must have known. He couldn't have avoided knowing. It was
daylight, and when he came out he had to go around that side of the
house to get to the garage. I myself noticed the print of his boot--a
larger boot than anyone else wears--in the mould of the flowerbed,
three feet away from the body."

"Roger! Then he saw her?"

"Of course. He took one look at her, realised what had happened, and
saw in a flash that the manner of her death had, so to speak, given the
whole show away. After that he didn't waste a second, but set about
saving his own damned skin."

"How horrible!" she exclaimed, shuddering.

"You are right, it was horrible--but logical. He was only being true
to his type. There is no sentiment about him; he has always despised
the rest of us, even Therese, who was his accomplice."

In his own room Roger realised for the first time a sense of terrible
fatigue. Up till now he had taken no account of the fact that he had
had scarcely any sleep for several nights, and in addition to this had
in actual fact been suffering from mild typhoid. His mind was still
keyed up by excitement, but every muscle in his body ached with
weariness. Chalmers had laid out his dressing-gown only, as a plain
indication that he should dine in his own room and go to bed. Slowly
he turned on the hot water in the bath, and began to divest himself of
his coat. As he did so he suddenly recalled the telegram handed him
that morning, the message addressed to the dead woman. It had passed
completely out of his thoughts. He drew the blue envelope out of his
pocket and looked at it thoughtfully. The mark showed that it had been
handed in at a small town on the road to Marseilles on the previous
evening.

After some hesitation he tore open the flap and spread the paper out,
then stared at it thoughtfully. The enclosure read:

SO SORRY UNABLE SAY GOOD-BVE SAILING MARSEILLES TO-MORROW