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chanced to look up, and therefore quite safe. Safe from what, I couldn’t have said.
    Had I been calmer, I’d have realised there was nothing furtive about the footsteps above me. In another moment, their owner had run lightly round the bend in the staircase and cannoned into me. It was Morgan Rees.
    His hands caught and steadied me. “Clare, for goodness’ sake! Did I hurt you?”
    â€œI thought you’d gone out!” I said accusingly.
    â€œI’m just on my way. I popped into the television lounge to watch the headlines, then remembered I’d left my sweater upstairs. Did you know we’ve a television lounge, by the way?”
    â€œNo.” My heartbeats were gradually decreasing.
    â€œDown there on the left of the entrance – on the opposite side to the cocktail lounge.”
    â€œIt can’t be very well patronised.”
    â€œNo, most people want to get away from TV on holiday. Sometimes the Americans and the schoolmarms play bridge in there, if the lounge is occupied.”
    We stood awkwardly for a moment.
    â€œWell—” we both said together – and laughed.
    â€œGood-night again, then.”
    â€œGood-night, Morgan.”
    He stood to one side and I passed him and went on up the stairs.
    I undressed slowly. I was tired, yet my brain was too active to allow me to relax and I was still unsettled by the unseen watcher. I switched on the bedside lamp, turned off the main light, and drew back the curtains.
    Outside, all was dark and still. An owl hooted suddenly near at hand, making me jump. The room was still hot with the day’s stored sunshine and I opened the window as wide as it would go and pulled the blankets off the bed. Then, with a little sigh, I climbed in, pulled the sheet over me, and began to read. It was about ten-thirty.

Chapter Four
    â€˜I have not slept one wink.’
    Shakespeare:
Cymbeline
    I READ for a long time, hoping it would make me drowsy. It didn’t, which was frustrating. I was determined to wean myself off the sleeping pills while I was away, and had no intention of giving in on the first night.
    Footsteps and muted voices passed my door from time to time as the other guests came up to bed. Finally, I put my book down, turned off the lamp and resolutely lay down. But immediately, behind my closed eyelids, winding country lanes rushed past me, bends appeared and my body turned into them. Acknowledging that it was hopeless, I opened my eyes again.
    After a minute they adjusted and I could make out the unfamiliar shapes of furniture, faintly visible in the light from the uncurtained window. I lay motionless, my head turned to the pale rectangle, watching the black ragged clouds skid over the sky.
    And inevitably, my thoughts reverted to Matthew and Philip. Since that blistering hour before dinner, I’d been too occupied with my fellow guests to think of them, and I didn’t want to start now. Safer by far to concentrate on Morgan and the Mortimers and the old ladies. Miss Hettie had the cameo, Miss Olwen the amethyst. Or was it the other way round?
    An owl hooted again, and again I jumped. What was making me so nervy tonight? Admittedly there’d been one or two riddles during the last few hours, but they were puzzling rather than sinister.
    Mentally I ran through them, in case any could account for my unease. The first, of course, was the note Gareth had brought me, with its childish references to Aladdin and Jack and the Beanstalk. Easy enough, at that point, to accept as a game of some kind – indeed, Gareth had said as much.
    But the arrival of its duplicate gave it added significance, specially since there was no way to account for its presence in my room. Perhaps that was subconsciously causing my edginess.
    More nebulous was that feeling, in the lounge, of being watched, and the glimpse of what I’d thought to be a face disappearing up the stairs. It could have been imagination, but it was