“I trust,” said Simon, finding George Felse close beside him as they went down the steps to the drive, “you were duly impressed with my performance?”

  The voice was deliberately cool and light, but tired. He had walked rather stiffly past Tamsin, when she hesitated and waited for him in the doorway. For several days now he had been walking past Tamsin, with aching care and reluctant resolution. It had taken her a day or so to realise it, and longer to believe in it. She had the idea now, she had betaken herself promptly where she was welcomed, between Paddy and Dominic. They stood chattering beside the Mini, all a little subdued. The soft voices had a sound of autumn in them, too, as gentle as the salt wind.

  “Yes, you’re quite a detective,” conceded George. Simon’s eyes were on Paddy, and the slight, brooding smile was unwary; he had no reason to suppose that George possessed the knowledge necessary to make it significant. “Now what about tackling the only mystery that’s left? I’m sure you could put a finger just as accurately on Trethuan’s killer, if you really tried.”

  The smile stiffened slightly for an instant, and then perceptibly deepened. “Maybe I will, yet,” said Simon. “But there’s just one more question I have to ask before I shall know what I’ve got to tell you about that case. Give me till to-morrow.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Can I run you back to the hotel? It isn’t too comfortable for four, but it’s bearable for that distance.”

  “Thanks, but we’ll walk. It’s not far, and rather nice at this time of night. And I think we’ll make our farewells to Paddy now. To-morrow,” said George quite gently, “had better be left to the family. Don’t you think so?”

  The question that was to determine the ending of the Trethuan case was asked later that same night. And the person who had to answer it was Paddy Rossall.

  They were all together round the fire before bed, Paddy’s packing done, the last pot of tea circulating, when Simon said in a careful and unemphatic voice, so that the shock came only gradually, like the late breaking of a wave:

  “I hadn’t intended to do this, and if the truth hadn’t come out without any act of mine, I never would. But now we all know where we are. Paddy, you’re fifteen, for all present purposes you’re a man. You know I’m your father, as well as I know it. Now I want to talk to you, here, now, with Tim and Phil present, the only honest way.”

  The silence that fell was extreme. There might never have been sound or movement in the world.

  “Simon,” began Tim quietly, when he had his voice again, “do you think this is fair?”

  “Yes, I think it’s fair. I think it’s absolutely necessary. We’ve been stalling it since yesterday morning, since we all knew where we stood. It’s necessary for us all, if only to clear the air. I am who I am, and Paddy knows it now, why not say it? Paddy, you do know. Say it!”

  “Simon, you’ve no right—”

  Phil laid her hand restrainingly on her husband’s arm. He had expected her to blaze into indignation, and she was silent; it confused and calmed him at the same time, effectively silencing him.

  “Yes, I know,” said Paddy in a small, tight voice. He had a cup of tea in his hand; he laid it down carefully on the tiled hearth, and wiped his palms slowly on his thighs. His face was taut and expressionless.

  “Then listen to me. This once listen to me, and be sure I respect you and trust you to be honest. We all want you to be happy, to have a full life and a satisfying life. I’m going to speak up for myself now. It’s the first time I’ve been able to do that, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t take advantage of it. I know I’m very late in making my bid, Paddy, but I’ve got a lot to offer. I’ve got an assignment that’s going to take me practically round the world for a series of articles and broadcasts. If you choose, you can come with me. It’s entirely up to you. Everything I can give you, I’ll give. Everything I can do for you, I’ll do. I want you, Paddy, I want you very much. I’ll do everything possible to try and deserve you, if you’ll come with me.”

  “Now, look!” growled Tim.

  “No, Tim, let him talk.” Phil drew him down again to his chair and held him there, charmed into quiescence by her bewildering serenity. It was too late, in any case, to deflect the encounter. The matter had been taken out of their hands, but for all that it was not yet in Simon’s. Paddy was a person, too. They must place as much reliance in him as Simon did, they had better reason. Nobody must argue back. Their arguments were already on record, fifteen years of them, without any world-tours, without any glamour, inexpert, imperfect, intimate arguments. But Phil knew their weight, and had already bet her life and Tim’s on their validity.

  So Simon was the only one who talked; and Simon was an unmatched talker when his heart was in it. He was ruthless, too, now that he was in pursuit of something he really wanted. Miss Rachel had been a shrewd prophet.

  “That’s all, Paddy. You know what you’ve got here, and now you know what I’m promising you. It’s up to you. If you decide to come with me, I don’t believe Tim and Phil will stand in your way.” It was a fighting case he’d made, he felt drained with all that had gone out of him. And Paddy sat there with his hands clenched on his thighs, and his face white with tension, staring into the fire.

  “Paddy, look at me!”

  Paddy raised his head obediently, and met Simon’s eyes full. His mouth and chin were set like stone, as if he felt the threat of tears not far away.

  “Will you come?”

  Paddy’s lips parted slowly and painfully. He moistened them, and tried for a voice that creaked and failed him; tried again, and achieved a remarkably steady, loud and controlled utterance.

  “I’m sorry, but this is where I belong. With my parents. I like you very much, and of course you’re my father’s best friend. But I’m not going anywhere, except back to school tomorrow. But thank you,” he ended with punctilious politeness, “for asking me.”

  He uncurled his closed fingers with a wrench, and got to his feet abruptly, all his movements slightly stiff and pareful.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to bed now. Good-night, Mummy!” The quick, current touch of his lips on her cheek forbade her to manifest either surprise or concern. “Good-night, Dad!” His hand patted Tim’s shoulder lightly in passing. He was half-way to the door, magnificent and precarious, passing close to where Simon stood stricken mute and rigid with shock. And then he spoiled the whole gallant show.

  It was not a deliberate blow; he had hesitated and cast about him frantically for a second to find some formula he could use, but there was none, and the instant of silence grew enormous in his own ears, and had to be broken. You can’t just excise a human being from your life, and pretend he doesn’t exist, you can’t call him “Uncle Simon” when he’s just reminded you that he isn’t anything of the kind, you can’t say “Father” when you have a father already, and have just been at pains to point out that you have no intention whatever of swopping him for anybody else on earth. There wasn’t anything left but that inalienable possession, a name, and only the respectful form was even half-way appropriate.

  He said: “Good-night, Mr. Towne!”, fighting off the silence in sheer panic, and instantly and horribly aware that even the silence had been preferable.

  Simon jerked back his head and drew in breath painfully, as if he had been struck in the face. He reached out a hand in incredulous protest, and caught the boy by the arm.

  “My dear child—!”

  Paddy turned upon him a pale face suddenly and briefly convulsed by a bright blaze of anger and desperation, and struck as hard as he could, frantic to end this and escape.

  “That’s just the point! I’m not a child any longer, I’m not all that dear to you, and above all, I’m not yours. You gave me away, remember?”

  For one electrifying instant Phil saw the two fierce, strained faces braced close to each other, staring in mutual anguish, more alike than they had ever been before. Then Paddy tugged his arm free and stalked out of the room; but in a moment they heard him climbing the stairs at a wild run, head-down for the privacy of his own room.

  Simon hung still for a long, incredulous moment, his hand still extended, unable to grasp what had happened to him. Its finality there was no mistaking, but it took him what seemed an age to comprehend and accept it. He turned from them in a blind man’s walk, and went and groped out a cigarette from the box on the table, to find his shaking hands something challenging and normal to do.

  Phil had risen instinctively and taken a couple of hasty steps towards the door to follow Paddy, but then she checked after all, and sat down again slowly. She felt for Tim’s hand, and closed her fingers on it gratefully. Simon’s fair crest, pale against the dark curtains, Simon’s rigid shoulders and patient, obstinate hands at work with matches, seemed to her suddenly close kin to Paddy’s beloved person, and infinitely more in need of pity.

  “I ought to take you apart,” said Tim roused and scowling.

  “Think you could do a better job than Paddy just did?” asked the taut voice.

  “You asked for it.”

  “I know I did. And I got it. Between the eyes.” He was ready to turn and face them now, the faintest of smiles wry at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t worry! I know when I’m licked. Even if I never had much practice, I can still be a sporting loser when there’s no help for it. I apologise, Tim, it was a dirty trick. It won’t happen again. Ever.”

  “I tried to warn you,” said Phil in a very low voice.

  “I know you did. I ought to have remembered that most women never bet anything that really matters to them, except on certainties. I won’t forget again.”

  “Simon,” she said impulsively, gripping Tim’s hand tightly, because of course Tim didn’t understand, and probably never would, “settle for what you can get. There is something that belongs to you. I know it isn’t what you wanted, but it’s too good to throw away.”

  Simon came across the room to her, took her chin in his hand, and kissed her. “God bless you, Phil! I’ll take any crumb that’s offered. But I don’t deserve a damn’ thing, and I won’t ask for anything again. After to-morrow, I promise, you won’t be bothered with me any more.”

  CHAPTER XI

  MONDAY MORNING

  « ^

  PADDY CAME DOWN next morning pale and quiet, but resolutely calm, and very much in command of himself and circumstances. There were the blessed, beastly, ordinary details of returning to school to be taken care of, and no drama at all, and no opportunity for introspection. He had worked out his own course overnight, even before his mother had looked in almost guiltily to kiss him good-night all over again, and found him composed and ready for sleep. He had been glad to be visited, all the same; it’s fine not to need comfort, but it’s nice to know that it’s ready and waiting if you should want it.

  “I hope I wasn’t rude, Mummy. I didn’t mean to be. I was a bit pushed, not having any warning.”

  “I know. Don’t worry, you weren’t rude.” She tucked him in, a piece of pure self-indulgence, for Paddy had never looked so adult and self-sufficient as he did now. He smiled up at her with understanding and affection, but very gravely.

  “Mummy—will he be all right?”

  “He’ll be all right. We’ll see that he is.” She was quick to know what he wanted. It was she who made a point of inviting Simon to drive in with them to the station, and so gave Paddy himself the opportunity of seconding the invitation.

  “Yes, do come. Of course there’s plenty of room. My trunk’s gone on ahead, there’s only a small case to take.” So there were four of them in the Mini on the way to the station, Simon in the front seat beside Tim, the pair of them taciturn as yet; Paddy and his mother in the back, cosy and a little disconsolate together. There’s something at once damping and heartening about the beginning of a new term.

  “It was a lovely holiday, darling, I’m sorry it’s over. Don’t forget to write every week-end. There’ll be ructions if you don’t.”

  “I’ll be chivvied into it, don’t worry. But I wouldn’t forget, anyhow. Cheer up, it won’t be long till Christmas.” It seemed an age away, but he knew from experience how soon it would be sitting on the doorstep. He nuzzled Phil’s shoulder briefly and happily; and presently a corner of his mind defected flightily to consider the Middle School’s football prospects for the new season, even before he had taken care of all his responsibilities here at home.

  They disembarked beside the blonde wooden fence of the station approach, and unloaded the suitcase with due ceremony, already worrying vainly about whether anything had been forgotten.

  “I’ll say good-bye here,” said Simon, with the right lightness of tone, if not of heart. “I’ve got a call I want to make in the town. So long, Paddy, have a good journey. And a good term!”

  “Thanks very much!” He had saved it until then, to give it its maximum effect. He gripped Simon’s hand with warmth, but still with some reserve. “Good-bye,—” His face flamed, but the blue eyes never wavered. “—Uncle Simon!”

  Simon turned away briskly, and walked the length of the light-brown barrier with an even pace and a jaunty bearing, balancing with care the great, hollow ache of Paddy’s charity within him; and alongside the extreme end of the platform a lean quiet man was propped against the fence with arms folded, watching the lower school starlings gather and shrill greetings, and the self-conscious young cock-pheasants of the sixth stroll from their parents’ sides to knot themselves into world-weary conversations with their own kind. They had about as much control over their sophistication as over their feet, and their graces were as endearing as one’s first-born’s fledgling efforts on the amateur stage. The in-betweens, like Paddy, had the best of both worlds, rollercoasting without pretence from lofty dignity to uninhibited horseplay, and back again. They could even stand and wait, as Paddy did, warmly linked with their parents, and openly happy to have them close for a few more minutes; for they had outgrown homesickness and quite forgotten the ancient dread of tears, but had not yet grown into that extreme state of senior self-consciousness which scorns to have had a human origin at all, and prefers not to have its parents around for fear they shall somehow fall short of the ideal image.

  “On the whole,” said George Felse, turning from the spectacle with the small, private smile still on his lips, “I must say they inspire me with a degree of self-satisfaction. Wouldn’t it be simpler, though, to put boy and trunk and paraphernalia into the Land- Rover, and just drive them the twelve miles there, and tip ’em out?”

  “They wouldn’t consider it for a moment. This always has been the school train, and it always will be. It’s better for the little ones,” said Simon. “By the time they get there the ice is well and truly broken, and they’ve been doused a couple of times, and got over the cold and the shock, even begun to enjoy it. Twelve miles is just long enough.”

  “I see,” said George, falling into step beside him, “you’ve got the basic knowledge necessary to a father.”

  “But not the other basic requirements. Cigarette?” They halted for a moment over the lighted match, faces close, and again fell into step together. Simon drew in smoke hungrily, and let it go in a long, soundless sigh. “Yes—I promised you a solution, didn’t I?”

  “You promised, at least, to let me know whether you could provide one or not. When you’d asked your final question.”

  “I’ve asked it. And it’s been answered.” He walked for a minute in silence, his eyes on the ground. “Not that I really have anything to tell you. You already know—don’t you?”

  “I’ve known all along,” said George, “who put him there. I didn’t know who’d killed him until Miss Rachel mentioned that you were sitting on the lawn talking to her about Paddy, the afternoon he was there in the garden, picking plums. Only a few hours before he died. And even now,” he said with intent, “I couldn’t prove it.”

  “I shouldn’t worry,” said Simon. “You don’t have to prove it. Paddy turned me down.”

  Silence for a moment. They walked together equably, down the cobbled paving of a narrow street leading towards the town. Behind them, in the heathy fringes of the uplands, a train whistle sounded.

  “If Paddy had opted for me—but I see I was mad ever to think he might—I’d have kept my mouth tight shut and ridden it out, and let you prove it if you could. I’d have taken him and got out. But he turned me down. Flatter than I’ve ever been turned down in my life, and harder. And now, do you know, on the whole I find myself preferring it this way. My instincts are incurably on the side of justice, after all.” He dug his hands deep into his pockets, hunching his shoulders against the sudden cold wind from the sea. “I gathered last night that you knew already Paddy was—or rather used to be—mine.”

  “I happened to be with Phil, the night we were hunting for him, when Miss Rachel finally admitted what she’d done. Phil said in any case she couldn’t have told him who his father was, because she didn’t know it. And the old lady said oh, yes, she did, she’d learned it from you yourself, no longer ago than Wednesday afternoon, sitting in the garden. Don’t worry, I haven’t told anyone else. I never shall.”

  “And how did you know the rest of it? What was it that told you?”

  “A number of small things. First, that you asked me to be there at all. I’d been with you most of one evening and part of the next morning, and you hadn’t found it necessary to draft me in. But five minutes after Paddy had let it out that I was C.I.D. by profession, you asked me to make one in your team. I knew there had to be a reason. You hardly knew me as a person, you’d invited me as what you did now know me to be, a policeman, but a policeman on holiday, out of his own manor, without any local connections or loyalties. I couldn’t imagine why you wanted such a person, and why you wanted him suddenly on the last day. Not until we were confronted with a body. Then I knew. You wanted an accurate and unbiased observer. You wanted no one involved because of haphazard evidence. You wanted to be fair to all those who might otherwise come under suspicion. So you’d known he was going to be found there. So you’d put him there. It was as simple as that. Everything else had to fit in. And the whole organisation of that affair, the whole set-up in the vault, did fit in. The discovery had been staged. And there was only one possible stage-manager. And other, personal things, fitted in, too. You began to avoid Tamsin. Forgive me if I’m trampling rather crudely through things you’d prefer to keep well apart from this. But you asked me how I knew. You’ve kept carefully away from her for the last five days. But not—forgive me again!—not because you stopped wanting her. And then, when Paddy went missing, you were the one who said he’d turn up safe and sound. Knowing, of course, that he had nothing at all to fear from our supposed murderer-at-large. It was only later, when time wore on and he still didn’t show up, that you got really frightened about him. Do you want me to go on?”