nvelope removed his doubts. He
took it up, said "Thank you" in an absent voice and waited until the door
was closed again and he was alone. The last time he had seen that writing
was eighteen months ago. A little note of thanks, blurred with tears and
scribbled hastily and marked with no address, had been handed to him in
Bombay. Stella Ballantyne had disappeared then. She was here now at
Little Beeding and his relationship with the young struggling barrister
of ten years back suddenly became actual and near. He tore open the
envelope and read.

"Be prepared to see me. Be prepared to hear news of me. I will have a
talk with you afterwards if you like. This is a trap. Be kind."

He stood for a while with the letter in his hand, speculating upon its
meaning, until the wheels of a car grated on the gravel beneath his
window. The Pettifers had come. But Thresk was in no hurry to descend. He
read the note through many times before he hid it away in his letter-case
and went down the stairs.

CHAPTER XXIII

METHODS FROM FRANCE

Meanwhile Stella Ballantyne waited below. She heard Mr. Hazlewood in the
hall greeting the Pettifers with the false joviality which sat so ill
upon him; she imagined the shy nods and glances which told them that the
trap was properly set. Mr. Hazlewood led them into the room.

"Is tea ready, Stella? We won't wait for Dick," he said, and Stella took
her place at the table. She had her back to the door by which Thresk
would enter. She had not a doubt that thus her chair had been
deliberately placed. He would be in the room and near to the table before
he saw her. He would not have a moment to prepare himself against the
surprise of her presence. Stella listened for the sound of his footsteps
in the hall; she could not think of a single topic to talk about except
the presence of that extra sixth cup; and that she must not mention if
the tables were really to be turned upon her antagonists. Surprise must
be visible upon her side when Thresk did come in. But she was not alone
in finding conversation difficult. Embarrassment and expectancy weighed
down the whole party, so that they began suddenly to speak at once and
simultaneously to stop. Robert Pettifer however asked if Dick was playing
cricket, and so gave Harold Hazlewood an opportunity.

"No, the match was over early," said the old man, and he settled
himself in his arm-chair. "I have given some study to the subject of
cricket," he said.