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opening safes," said Sally darkly, cupping her chin in her hands. "I suppose you don't happen to know the combination?"
    "You're right for the first time tonight. God, how I hate women!"
    "Sally, you don't really know how to open safes, do you?" asked Helen, forgetting her troubles in surprise.
    "No, not offhand. I should have to look it up. Of course, I know about soup."
    "What sort of soup?" inquired Neville. "If we're going to talk gastronomy I can be quite intelligent, though seldom inspired."
    "Ass. Not that kind of soup. The stuff you blow open safes with. I forget exactly what it's made of, but it's an explosive of sorts."
    "Is it really?" said Neville. "What lovely fun! Won't it go big with the policeman in the hall?"
    "I wasn't thinking of using it, even if I knew how to make it, which I don't."
    "That must be your weak woman's nature breaking through the crust, darling. Get the better of it, and don't stop at the safe. Blow the whole house up, thus eliminating the policeman."
    "Have a good laugh," said Sally. "After all, you aren't in this jam, are you?" She got up, and began to stride about the room. "Well, let's face it! We can't open the safe, and we don't know how to get by the policeman. In fact, we're futile. But if I created this situation in a book I could think of something for the book-me to do. Why the devil can't I think of something now?"
    Neville betrayed a faint interest. "If we were in one of your books, we should all of us have much more nerve than we really have, to start with."
    "Not necessarily."
    "Oh yes! You always draw your characters rather more than life-size. We should have more brains, too. You, for instance, would know how to make your soup -"
    "Any where to buy the - the ingredients, which actually one just doesn't know," she interpolated.
    "Exactly. Helen would go and scream blue murder outside the house, to draw the policeman off while you blew up the safe, and I should put up a great act to regale him with on his return, telling him I thought I heard someone in the study, and leading him there when you'd beaten it with the incriminating documents. And can you see any one of us doing any of it?"
    "No, I can't. It's lousy, anyway. It would be brought home to us because of Helen's being an obvious decoy."
    "Helen would never be seen. She'd have merged into the night by the time the policeman got there."
    "Let's discuss possibilities!" begged Helen.
    "I'll go further, and discuss inevitabilities. We shall all of us sit tight, and let the police do the worrying. Ernie's dead, and there isn't a thing we can do, except preserve our poise. In fact, we are quite definitely in the hands of Fate. Fascinating situation!"
    "A dangerous situation!" Sally said.
    "Of course. Have you never felt the fascination of fear? Helen has, in that gambling-hell of hers."
    "Not now!" Helen said. "This is too awful. I only feel sick, and - and desperate!"
    "Take some bicarbonate," he advised. "Meanwhile, I'm going home to bed. Oh, did I say thank you for the cigarettes? By the way, where is John supposed to be?"
    "In Berlin," replied Helen listlessly.
    "Well, he isn't," said Neville. "I saw him in London today."
    She came to her feet in one swift movement, paperwhite, staring at him. "You couldn't have! I know he's in Berlin!"
    "Yes, I saw him," murmured Neville.
    He was by the window, a hand on the curtain. Helen moved quickly to detain him. "You thought you saw him! Do you imagine I don't know where my own husband is?"
    "Oh, no!" Neville said gently. "I didn't say that, precious."

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    Chapter Three

    Well, it doesn't look such a whale of a case to me," said Sergeant Hemingway, handing the sheaf of typescript back to his superior. "No one in it but the one man, on the face of it."
    "True," agreed Hannasyde. "Still, there are points."
    "That's right, Superintendent," nodded Inspector True. "That's what I said myself. What about them footprints? They weren't made by the old lady: she doesn't wear that kind of