“Yes, sir, I’m sure it was,” said Sergeant Hitchbrisket clearing his throat. “Tell me, when was it you had these elephants?”
“Let’s see,” said Mr. Filigree, screwing up his face in a determined effort at concentration. “I think it was 1470.”
“1470?” croaked Sergeant Hitchbrisket, his pencil poised over his notebook.
“Or, it may have been 1471,” said Mr. Filigree. “I cannot be sure.”
“It was one of my father’s previous incarnations,” said Samantha sweetly.
“Oh, ah,” said Sergeant Hitchbrisket, “incarnation, eh?”
“Yes. I was at Nagarapore,” said Mr. Filigree earnestly. “It was, I assure you, a most interesting life. Quite apart from the elephants and the tiger hunts, there was the way they used to weigh me every year with gold and precious stones. Absolutely thrilling.”
Sergeant Hitchbrisket folded up his notebook and stowed it away in his pocket together with his pencil.
“Most interesting, sir,” he said, getting to his feet. “Most interesting. Well, I don’t think I’ll be troubling you any farther.”
“I do assure you,” said Samantha, “that should we have any news of any sort, we will get in touch with you immediately.”
“Thank you, miss,” said the Sergeant eyeing her.
“Not at all,” she said curtly. “One should always help the police.”
“Well, good day, sir. Good day, miss,” said Sergeant Hitchbrisket, and he clumped his way out into the road. Samantha closed the front door and leant against it, letting her breath out in a great sigh of relief.
“It was 1471,” said Mr. Filigree. “I’ve just remembered. Call him back.”
“No, I’m sure he has got all the information he wants,” said Samantha. “But really, father, you must not go down to the village and start spreading these stories about.”
“They are not stories,” said Mr. Filigree aggrievedly.
“No, I know they’re not,” said Samantha, “but it’s just that people in the village don’t believe in reincarnation the way you do, and so they all think the whole thing a bit queer. Now, promise me you won’t go down there again and start talking about elephants and things.”
“All right, my dear,” sighed Mr. Filigree, “I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right,” said Samantha. “You’ll get yourself into trouble that way.”
She went to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. “You can come down now, Adrian,” she said. “He’s gone.”
Adrian came down, mopping his forehead with his hand. kerchief.
“You were wonderful,” he said. “It took a year off my life, just to listen to you.”
“I think you really have to thank father,” said Samantha dryly. “It’s most fortunate that India came into his reincarnation.”
“But, you see, I was right,” said Adrian. “What I said to you this morning. I am a danger to you here, and now you’ve gone and made it worse by telling lies to him.”
“Rubbish,” said Samantha. “Nobody’s going to know you’re here.”
“But they’re bound to find out sooner or later,” said Adrian. “And when they do, you will be in it as deeply as I am, and I should hate that.”
“Now, look,” said Samantha, “stop being silly. You are not well enough to travel yet, and it will be another four weeks before you can take your plaster off. All you have to do is lie low here until you feel better.”
“Will you promise me that I can move on as soon as I do feel better?” said Adrian. Samantha looked at him with a curious expression in her green eyes.
“When you feel better,” she said, “if you want to move on, I can’t stop you.”
“It’s, it’s not a question of wanting to move on,” stammered Adrian. “It’s just that I don’t want to get you into trouble or your father, if it comes to that.”
“Well, we shall see,” said Samantha. “And since you’re so anxious to be helpful, you can come and help me with the washing-up.”
The next fortnight was a nightmare for poor Adrian. Every time Mr. Filigree went down to the village to get something, he expected him to return accompanied by a group of kindly constables whom he had offered to show Rosy to. He lay awake at night visualising Samantha being arrested for aiding and abetting, and being cast into some enormous, gloomy prison to languish in a damp cell until her copper-coloured hair turned white and she died in misery and loneliness. The fact that, of all of them, it was he who was the most likely to receive a really stiff sentence did not worry him. It was the thought of Samantha in prison that would wake him up in a cold sweat. For he bad fallen deeply and irretrievably in love with her. This, of course, presented another problem to his tortured mind. Even supposing he bad the courage to confess his love, how could a criminal (on the run with a dangerous elephant) possibly propose to a girl like Samantha?
At length he could stand it no longer. He came downstairs early one morning and found Samantha cooking breakfast in the kitchen, her hair gleaming like a newly minted penny.
“Good morning,” she smiled. “It’ll be ready in a minute.”
“Samantha, I must talk to you,” said Adrian firmly. She turned and surveyed him quizzically. The sunlight caught her face and the little gold flecks in her green eyes glinted and winked. Adrian swallowed and began to feel his good resolutions draining away. How could he possibly leave anybody so beautiful and so desirable?
“Look here,” he insisted, “I’ve got to talk to you.”
“My, my,” said Samantha mockingly, “why are we so stern this morning?”
“I’ve decided,” said Adrian in what he hoped was a firm, masculine voice, “I have decided that I am leaving to-night”
Samantha’s eyes widened. “To-night?” she said. “Well, I suppose you know best.”
She turned her attention to the frying-pan where the eggs lay spluttering in rows like miniature suns.
“It’s not that I want to go,” said Adrian desperately, “but the longer I stay the greater the danger of my being discovered. You must see that.”
“My dear man,” said Samantha coldly, her back still turned towards him as she busied herself about the fire, “it is nothing to do with me.”
“You see,” said Adrian miserably, “I’ve got to get rid of Rosy. If I can get rid of her then they can’t connect me with the Hunt and the Hall and all that, and the only chance I have of getting rid of her is to get down to the coast.”
“Have you ever heard of a familiar?” enquired Samantha.
“A familiar?” said Adrian. “No. What’s that?”
“Witches used to have them in the old days,” said Samantha. “They were creatures that followed them about and sometimes did their dirty work for them. Cats, and things like that. Well, I think Rosy is your familiar. Witches used to be able to attach a familiar to people they disliked so that everywhere they went they saw a black dog, or small monkey, or something.”
“Oh!” said Adrian. “How interesting.”
“It eventually drove the person mad,” said Samantha gaily. “That’s why I think Rosy is your familiar. Your uncle was probably a wizard in his spare time.”
“Well, this is one familiar that I’m going to get rid of,” said Adrian firmly.
Samantha flung down a spoon and whirled round to face him. Her eyes were enormous and a more vivid green than he had ever seen them before, and the little gold flecks shone and glittered.
“You,” she said, anger flushing her face, “you are despicable.”
“But . . . but . . . what have I done?” said Adrian, aghast at this sudden display of rage on the part of the normally calm Samantha.
“Wasn’t Rosy left you by your uncle?” enquired Samantha.
“Yes.”
“Didn’t he leave you money to look after her?”
“Yes.”
“Wasn’t your uncle your last living relative?”