olly rearranged a few of the table decorations in the dining room, removed an extra knife, straightened a fork, reset a glass or two, stood back to look at the effect and then walked out on to the terrace outside.

There was no one about just at present and she strolled to the far corner and stood by the balustrade. Soon another evening would begin. Chattering, talking, drinking, all so gay and carefree, the sort of life she had longed for and, up to a few days ago, had enjoyed so much. Now even Tim seemed anxious and worried. Natural, perhaps, that he should worry a little. It was important that this venture of theirs should turn out all right. After all, he had sunk all he had in it.

But that, thought Molly, is not really what's worrying him. It's me. But I don't see, said Molly to herself, why he should worry about me. Because he did worry about her. That she was quite sure of. The questions he put, the quick nervous glance he shot at her from time to time. But why? thought Molly. “I've been very careful,” she summed up things in her mind. She didn't understand it really herself. She couldn't remember when it had begun. She wasn't even very sure what it was. She'd begun to be frightened of people. She didn't know why. What could they do to her? What should they want to do to her?

She nodded her head, then started violently as a hand touched her arm. She spun round to find Gregory Dyson, slightly taken aback, looking apologetic.

“Ever so sorry. Did I startle you, little girl?”

Molly hated being called “little girl”.

She said quickly and brightly: “I didn't hear you coming, Mr. Dyson, so it made me jump.”

“Mr. Dyson? We're very formal tonight. Aren't we all one great happy family here? Ed and me and Lucky and Evelyn and you and Tim and Esther Walters and old Rafiel. All the lot of us one happy family.”

“He's had plenty to drink already,” thought Molly. She smiled at him pleasantly.

“Oh! I come over the heavy hostess sometimes,” she said lightly. “Tim and I think it's more polite not to be too handy with Christian names.”

“Aw! we don't want any of that stuffed-shirt business. Now then, Molly my lovely, have a drink with me.”

“Ask me later,” said Molly. “I have a few things to get on with.”

“Now don't run away.” His arm fastened round her arm. “You're a lovely girl, Molly. I hope Tim appreciates his good luck.”

“Oh, I see to it that he does,” said Molly cheerfully.

“I could go for you, you know, in a big way.” He leered at her-“though I wouldn't let my wife hear me say so.”

“Did you have a good trip this afternoon?”

“I suppose so. Between you and me I get a bit fed up sometimes. You can get tired of the birds and butterflies. What say you and I go for a little picnic on our own one day?”

“We'll have to see about that,” said Molly gaily. “I'll be looking forward to it.”

With a light laugh she escaped, and went back into the bar.

“Hallo, Molly,” said Tim, “you seem in a hurry. Who's that you've been with out there?”

He peered out.

“Gregory Dyson.”

“What does he want?”

“Wanted to make a pass at me,” said Molly.

“Blast him,” said Tim.

“Don't worry,” said Molly, “I can do all the blasting necessary.”

Tim started to answer her, caught sight of Fernando and went over to him shouting out some directions. Molly slipped away through the kitchen, out through the kitchen door and down the steps to the beach.

Gregory Dyson swore under his breath.

Then he walked slowly back in the direction of his bungalow. He had nearly got there when a voice spoke to him from the shadow of one of the bushes. He turned his head, startled. In the gathering dusk he thought for a moment that it was a ghostly figure that stood there. Then he laughed. It had looked like a faceless apparition but that was because, though the dress was white, the face was black.

Victoria stepped out of the bushes on to the path.

“Mr. Dyson, please?”

“Yes. What is it?”

Ashamed of being startled, he spoke with a touch of impatience.

“I brought you this, sir.” She held out her hand. In it was a bottle of tablets. “This belongs to you, doesn't it? Yes?”

“Oh, my bottle of Serenite tablets. Yes, of course. Where did you find it?”

“I found it where it had been put. In the gentleman's room.”

“What do you mean-in the gentleman's room?”

“The gentleman who is dead,” she added gravely. “I do not think he sleeps very well in his grave.”

“Why the devil not?” asked Dyson.

Victoria stood looking at him.

“I still don't know what you're talking about. You mean you found this bottle of tablets in Major Palgrave's bungalow?”

“That is right, yes. After the doctor and the Jamestown people go away, they give me all the things in his bathroom to throw away. The toothpaste and the lotions, and all the other things-including this.”

“Well, why didn't you throw it away?”

“Because these are yours. You missed them. You remember, you asked about them?”

“Yes-well-yes, I did. I-I thought I'd just mislaid them.”

“No, you did not mislay them. They were taken from your bungalow and put in Major Palgrave's bungalow.”

“How do you know?” He spoke roughly.

“I know I saw.” She smiled at him in a sudden flash of white teeth. “Someone put them in the dead gentleman's room. Now I give them back to you.”

“Here-wait. What do you mean? What-who did you see?”

She hurried away, back into the darkness of the bushes. Greg made as to move after her and then stopped. He stood stroking his chin.

“What's the matter, Greg? Seen a ghost?” asked Mrs. Dyson, as she came along the path from their bungalow. “Thought I had for a minute or two.”

“Who was that you were talking to?”

“The coloured girl who does our place. Victoria, her name is, isn't it?”

“What did she want? Making a pass at you?”

“Don't be stupid. Lucky. That girl's got some idiotic idea into her head.”

“Idea about what?”

“You remember I couldn't find my Serenite the other day?”

“You said you couldn't.”

“What do you mean 'I said I couldn't'?”

“Oh, for heck's sake, have you got to take me up on everything?”

“I'm sorry,” said Greg. “Everybody goes about being so damn mysterious.”

He held out his hand with the bottle in it.

“That girl brought them back to me.”

“Had she pinched them?”

“No. She-found them somewhere I think.”

“Well, what of it? What's the mystery about?”

“Oh nothing,” said Greg. “She just riled me, that's all.”

“Look here, Greg, what is this stuff all about? Come along and have a drink before dinner.”