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rather tall, but who had no distinguishing marks except perhaps an unusually square jaw.
    Sergeant Billings took down all her information in a notebook with a blunt pencil moistened by his tongue, and since Miss Cruikshank seemed calm enough and not at all upset by her brother’s likely fate, offered no sympathy. He told her she would be notified as to police action during the course of the next few days. He then put in an official report to send to Russell Street Headquarters, where the matter reached John’s ears. Not that he had anything to do with mere disappearances. Nothing less than a juicy murder could command his attention.
    One of his colleagues at Russell Street, recalling that we had recently moved to Middleburn, brought the official report to him as a matter of interest. I do not know whether John let out then that I was the square-jawed young woman last seen with the estate agent,but he must have been unmercifully chaffed before the whole case was broken.
    The way in which John passed on the information was typical of him. It was the night we were hanging the curtains in the study. I was standing back and debating whether or not to have a valance of figured chintz to match the side drapes when I caught his eyes fixed on me. I looked at him inquiringly.
    â€œYes, you have got one,” he remarked meditatively. I was puzzled and glanced back at the curtains.
    â€œNo, don’t turn away. Show me your chin again. Profile and then full face.”
    I moved my head obediently. “Yes, I would definitely say it was square. Has anyone remarked on it before?”
    â€œDozens. What on earth are you talking about?”
    He went on musingly. “Fair hair. Tall. Do you dress smartly, my pet?”
    â€œI try to. What is this?”
    â€œWeight about ten stone?”
    â€œNine,” I corrected with some indignation. “Why this police description? Am I wanted for something?”
    John began to fill a pipe with an air of deliberation. He seemed amused.
    â€œYes and no. When I say yes—”
    â€œYou sound like my friend the estate agent,” I interrupted. “I told you about him. He always looks at a question from both sides. Tedious when you are in a hurry for an answer.”
    â€œIt’s strange you should mention him,” John said.
    â€œAnd why, pray?”
    â€œA report came in at Headquarters that he has disappeared.”
    â€œHas he?” I asked without much interest. “But what has he got to do with me?”
    John’s grin broadened considerably. “Only that he was last seen in the company of a young woman answering accurately to your description. You haven’t been indulging in a spot of kidnapping, have you, Maggie?”
    â€œCertainly not. I haven’t seen the man since that day he took me to the Hall.”
    â€œWhich is precisely the day and time he vanished.”
    â€œWhat!” I exclaimed incredulously. “If this is a joke, I think your idea of humour is feeble.”
    â€œIt’s no joke, I can assure you. Think of my career. Wife of C.I.D. man wanted for police interrogation. No good, Maggie.”
    â€œThen stop grinning like a gargoyle. Am I likely to be questioned?”
    â€œThe interrogation is about to commence,” John said, taking up his position behind the desk. “I promised Billings, who is in charge here at Middleburn, I’d find out what you know. So you have nothing to fear.”
    â€œI’m not afraid,” I said, eyeing him carefully withal. “Fire your questions. After all, you did it once before. And that was a case of murder, not kidnapping. Or am I supposed to have murdered Cruikshank?”
    John winced a little. I knew I had touched a raw spot and sat down on his knee in penitence.
    â€œThat was mean,” I admitted, tucking my head under his chin. “On with the questions.”
    John shifted my elbow out of his ribs and blew the top of my hair from his