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"Thank you, sir. I won't be a minute."

Rapid repairs completed, I took several calming breaths and went downstairs to the loathsome and inevitable sherry.

"There you are, my dear, drink that. Look, Mary, I'm terribly sorry about the misunderstanding upstairs. Gerry's a bit impetuous sometimes."

Misunderstanding? Easier to misunderstand the intent of a gun barrel.

"It's fine, Colonel, really. Is he going to be all right?"

"Certainly. A bit sore for a day or two, but perhaps you've succeeded in teaching him discretion where I failed."

"But I didn't mean—"

"No, I realise you didn't intentionally hurt him. No one could have done that deliberately. Nonetheless ... Look, Mary, I've just had a telephone call from a friend to invite me to a talk Monday afternoon. Would that be a good day for you to go to Oxford? I know it's not much warning, and if you would prefer to work on at the files before starting on another project, I'll understand."

And leave me alone with Lothario? No thank you.

"Monday's a good day. I'll take an early train. I'm quite looking forward to it."

"Good, good. I'm glad about that." He did look pleased, but something else, as well. Actually, I thought, he was acting oddly. Not remarkably so, just small things, such as the way he was fiddling with his glass, the way he looked at me, reserved, somehow, and appraising. Was it suspicion? No, I thought not. If anything, he seemed more confident and less attentive of me. Polite, but dismissive, as well. My speculations were interrupted by the arrival of Alex with my coat. The colonel held it for me, handed me the file of letters and manuscript, and said that he would see me Tuesday morning. No mention of dinner that night or Sunday. Interesting, very interesting. Just what was it that had changed the man's attitude towards me, and why?

Alex, uncommunicative as always, led the way to the garage. The roadster that Holmes had hypothesised was back now in its place, a very fast and slightly dented (along the sides) sleek, black Vauxhall. I exclaimed over it.

"Yes, miss, it belongs to young Mr Edwards."

"It is a beautiful thing. It looks fast, too."

"I believe he is in the habit of driving it in the high sixties, on the proper roads, of course." Cars were obviously Alex's weak point, as this one made him positively effusive.

"Cor, stone the crows, as my granfa' used to say," I said appreciatively. This pithy bit of vernacular struck home, and he actually broke down and smiled. I walked over to admire the gleaming enamel and the red leather upholstery more closely, and I thought that perhaps when this case was over, I, too— But then my acquisitive yearnings were stifled by the sight of a jumble of papers pushed into the front pocket, and my curiosity came to the fore. I circled the car under Alex's proud gaze, then, sighing like a love-struck adolescent, climbed reluctantly into the suddenly dowdy saloon car. I opened my bag as Alex went to his door, and I gave an exclamation of dismay.

"What is it, miss?"

"I don't seem to have my pen in here. I must have left it in the study. Would you mind awfully just waiting for a tick while I pop up and— oh dear. Mr Edwards will be there. Well, perhaps I'll just wait until Tuesday to retrieve it."

"Would you like me to fetch it, miss?"

"Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that."

"Not to worry. In the study, did you say?"

"Somewhere around the desk. It's where I was working when ... It's gold," I finished weakly, to his well-hidden, butlerian amusement.

"Won't be a minute, miss."

I waited until his footsteps faded, then pushed open the door and leant into the front of the roadster. The corner of one piece of paper looked tantalisingly familiar. Several months before, I had been returning to an urgent appointment in Oxford, trying to coax a modicum of speed out of my amiable Morris, and had collected a summons for my pains. Here in my hand was an identical slip of paper. I turned