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"Couldn't I just squeeze into the back seat?"

"I'm afraid not—not with the suitcases. Sale will be dreadfully crowded as it is. Get in, Sale."

Sale got in, and the bags were arranged on the seat beside her. Iris settled herself in front with the chauffeur.

"I'll tell my daughter you're here and she can expect you about half-past six."

She nodded pleasantly and Mrs. Gailey smiled. Would she ever stop smiling?

3

She did—directly the car was out of sight. Then she turned back into the waiting room, and after making sure that Chaffage was not in his adjoining lair, released a flow of language that would have startled him considerably. Then she lit a cigarette and walked out on the platform.

It was still as hot as ever. The afternoon, though advanced by Summer Time into evening, was held back by the sun in midday folds of heat. Not far from the station were thick woods, and meadows where oaks and ashes made cool tents on the grass. But Rosamund Gailey was not looking for shade.

"Is there anywhere," she asked Chaffage, who had just appeared, "where I could get a cup of tea?"