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to the doomed Desdemona.'
    And there in the eyes looking down at Debra, framed by brows and lashes of a wicked blackness, was the menace of strange places . . . the desires of a strong personality.
    With a breathless urgency she said: 'Nanny Rose will wonder what's become of me—good night, Mr Salvador!'
    'Good night, Miss Hartway.' He spoke with a slight note of mockery in his voice and watched as she backed a few paces to the stairs. 'Ours has been an intriguing introduction to each other. Please give the hijito a kiss and a hug from me.'
    When she looked puzzled he briefly smiled. 'I use the Spanish word for little boy.'
    'Oh—I see.' She stepped upon the stairs. 'Yes, all right.'
    She turned and fled, obeying the impulse which had been clamouring in her from the instant she had looked into the Spanish eyes of Rodare Salvador.

Chapter Three
    BEYOND the parapet the sea had a breathless, sparkling beauty as the sun arose, with the seabirds flying on the crest of the waves to snatch their prey.
    It had never been possible when Debra worked in the city to feel such a sense of expectancy in the day ahead, it merely came as a relief to reach the office after the usual subway scramble, the air in the streets still stale from the day before, the traffic fumes locked in by the tall buildings.
    But here on the edge of the ocean the air was like a wine that went to her head so that she slept soundly and awoke hungry for her breakfast. She always had lunch and dinner with Nanny Rose, but chose to have her breakfast on the terrace. She never bothered the staff but went quietly to the kitchen to collect her tray and with a sense of luxury she would eat her eggs, bacon and toast while listening to the sea churning into the cove.
    Although she had no need to work on Sundays, she chose to do a morning's stint at the typewriter. It helped pass the day and kept her from running into Zandra and her friends.
    Several of them were staying at Abbeywitch and upon passing the drawing-room the other evening she had heard herself referred to as 'that mouse who pecks away at the typewriter in the den of mystery.'
    Debra had to admit it was an appropriate description but it made her feel self-conscious, and it also made her aware of the actor who had tagged her as a mouse.
    She knew him to be Stuart Coltan who had appeared in a television series about a famous dance-hall in New York which during wartime had been a rendezvous for servicemen and their girl-friends. Debra had enjoyed the series not only because it had been well-acted and lively, but because it had given her an insight into her father's life. He had seen action in Korea as a young man, sustaining the injury which had led to his broken health and his early death.
    Stuart Coltan had played a young soldier in the series and much as Debra had enjoyed his acting and his skill as a dancer, she decided that in reality he was a rather brash American who liked to air his wit at other people's expense.
    He seemed to be extra friendly with Zandra Salvador, and Debra was willing to bet that Zandra was the type of woman who demanded to be the centre of a man's attention. They certainly made a striking pair, and from the terrace Debra had watched them water-skiing, and going out in the launch to dine and dance on the deck of the big yacht belonging to the theatrical producer who was backing the show they were still in the throes of rehearsing.
    Before starting her own work Debra went along to the nursery suite to wish Nanny Rose good-morning and to have a little game with Dean, who this morning had a new toy to show her, a clown with floppy legs and a bright red nose.
    He held it out to Debra, his blue eyes beaming into hers. 'Dino,' he announced, his name for all his toys including his spinning-top and his teddy-bear with a bent ear.
    'Isn't he a funny Dino?' she said. 'Did your uncle give him to you?'
    Nanny Rose came over to the high-chair with Dean's bowl of cereal. 'So you know about Dean's