Spinsters in Jeopardy
indicating the antic Sati, the bemused Ginny Taylor and the angry-looking Robin Herrington. “We can do so much.”
    He put his hand on Alleyn’s arm and led him forward. The reek of ether accompanied them. Alleyn was introduced to the guests and offered a seat but he said: “If we may, I think perhaps I should see my wife and Ricky on their way back to Roqueville. Our driver is free now and can take them. He will come back for me. We’re expecting a rather urgent telephone call at our hotel.”
    Troy, who dreaded the appearance of Carbury Glande, knew Alleyn had said “my wife” because he didn’t want Oberon to learn her name. He had an air of authority that was in itself, she thought, almost a betrayal. She got up quickly and went to Ricky.
    “Perhaps,” Alleyn said, “I should stay a little longer in case there’s any change in her condition. Baradi is going to telephone to St. Christophe for a nurse and, in the meantime, two of your maids will take turns sitting in the room. I’m sure, sir, that if she were able, Miss Truebody would tell you how grateful she is for your hospitality.”
    “There is no need. She is with us in a very special sense. She is in safe hands. We must send a car for the nurse. There is no train until the evening.”
    “I’ll go,” Robin Herrington said. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
    “Robin,” Oberon explained lightly, “has driven in the Monte Carlo rally. We must hope that the nurse has iron nerves.”
    Alleyn said to Robin: “It sounds an admirable idea. Will you suggest it to Dr. Baradi?”
    He went to Ricky and lifted him in his arms. Troy gave her hand to Mr. Oberon. His own wrapped itself round hers, tightened, and was suddenly withdrawn. “You must visit us again,” he said. “If you are a voyager of the spirit, and I think you are, it might interest you to come to one of our meditations.”
    “Yes, do come,” urged his Sati, who had abandoned her exercises on Alleyn’s entrance. “It’s madly wonderful. You must. Where are you staying?”
    “At the Royal.”
    “Couldn’t be easier. No need to hire a car. The Douceville bus leaves from the corner. Every half-hour. You’ll find it perfectly convenient.”
    Troy was reminded vividly of Mr. Garbel’s letters. She murmured something non-committal, said goodbye and went to the door.
    “I’ll see you out,” Robin Herrington offered and took up his heavy walking stick.
    As she groped down the darkened stairway she heard their voices rumbling above her. They came slowly; Alleyn because of Ricky and Herrington because of his stiff leg. The sensation of nightmare that threatened without declaring itself mounted in intensity. The stairs seemed endless, yet when she reached the door into the hall she was half-scared of opening it because Carbury Glande might be on the other side. But the hall was untenanted. She hurried through it and out to the courtyard. The iron gates had an elaborate fastening. Troy fumbled with it, dazzled by the glare of sunlight beyond. She pulled at the heavy latch, bruising her fingers. A voice behind her and at her feet said: “Do let me help you.”
    Carbury Glande must have come up the stairs from beneath the courtyard. His face, on a level with her knees, peered through the interstices of the wrought-iron banister. Recognition dawned on it.
    “Can it be Troy?” he exclaimed hoarsely. “But it
is!
Dear heart, how magical and how peculiar. Where
have
you sprung from? And why are you scrabbling away at doors? Has Oberon alarmed you? I may say he petrifies me. What are you up to?”
    He had arrived at her level, a short gnarled man whose hair and beard were red and whose face, at the moment, was a dreadful grey. He blinked up at Troy as if he couldn’t get her into focus. He was wearing a pair of floral shorts and a magenta shirt.
    “I’m not up to anything,” said Troy. “In fact, I’m scarcely here at all. We’ve brought your host a middle-aged spinster with a perforated

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