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She went over what she had done herself on that morning. She had been out all day-to the bank, shopping. And then she remembered that she had been very tired, so tired that she had… What had she done? Try as she would, she couldn’t remember.

And then quite suddenly it was there, just when she turned away and thought, ‘I won’t go on. It doesn’t matter.’ She saw herself walking down the passage, putting in the key, and opening the door. And there was the note on her dressing-table: ‘I’m going round to see someone. I’m going with-I won’t say who. I’ll tell you in the evening. It’s all very exciting. I’m going to number 109 Greyville Road. Anne.’ She saw herself reading it through-reading it three times. The note must have been given to that nice girl the chamber-maid. She saw herself standing, turning the note round, and then seeing the little squiggle of writing in the corner: ‘Perhaps I’ll tell you now. One of them is a man called Maxton. I don’t like him very much. The other is our cousin Ross Cranston. I’m meeting them there.’

She had met them, and she had met her death. She saw herself in front of the dressing-table, reading the words.

What had she done with the letter? She remembered putting it somewhere. Where? It wasn’t on her after her visit to Greyville Road. But she had dropped her bag there. That was how they had known that she had followed Anne. That was how Maxton had come on her track to Haleycott. It wasn’t in the bag that she had dropped, she felt quite sure about that. And then she remembered that she had put the letter into her handkerchief-case. She didn’t know why she had done that, but she had. She could see herself standing there with the drawer open, putting the letter away. She didn’t know why she had put it away so carefully, she only knew that she had. And then, tired as she was, she had gone downstairs again and walked to the corner and taken a taxi. She even remembered that she had asked the driver whether he knew Greyville Road, and when he said he did she asked to be put down at the corner. Why had she done that? It seemed quite a rational thing to do at the time. She remembered that. Well, then she ought to be able to remember why it had seemed so sensible. She thought it was because she didn’t want to be too obviously following her little cousin. Yes, that was it. She had paid off her taxi at the corner and walked along to number 109, and she had gone up the steps and found the door unlatched. Why was it unlatched? And the answer to that came too. It was because her cousin Anne lay dead in the cellar. It was the last, cruellest trick. It was the trap to involve whoever came next to this door, honest man or thief.

And she herself had walked into the trap.

CHAPTER 49

Anne got to her feet. She must go down. It was the most difficult thing she had ever done in her life. It had got to be done. She must go down and eat her breakfast, and she mustn’t show that she had remembered. She wondered at their bringing her here, but they had got to take her somewhere, and they didn’t know that it would mean anything to her. They didn’t know that her memory would come back. She mustn’t let them know about that. She mustn’t stay up here any longer, or they would get suspicious. She must watch every word, every look. She must watch her very thoughts. She felt a sudden rush of courage and of hope. Without giving herself time to think or be afraid she went down the stairs and into the dining-room.

Ross was watching the door. He said, ‘You’ve been a long time,’ and he said it in a complaining sort of voice.

She said, ‘I felt queer. I’m all right now. I think I want my breakfast.’

Maxton was eating hot buttered toast. He waved it at her and said, ‘We’re not starving you. Come along and have breakfast.’

It was a curious meal. There was no attempt to make her take anything apart from the general stock. She could cut from the loaf and she could boil herself an egg. She could drink tea out of the teapot and milk from the milk-jug. She made a good meal, and felt better for it. What next?

What was their plan? They must have one. She had eaten in silence, but when she had finished she pushed back her chair and got up.

‘Why have you brought me here?’ she said.

Maxton swung round to look at her. He did not get up. She would not look at him. She looked instead at Ross Cranston-her cousin Ross Forest Cranston. That was one thing that she had-she knew that Ross was her cousin, she knew that his middle name was Forest, and he didn’t know that she knew these things. She must keep her head. They mustn’t know that she had got her memory back. It was dangerous enough for them to know who she was, but once they knew that she had got her memory back it would be the end-for her.

All these thoughts were in her mind together. They were quite distinct and clear. They took no time at all. They were there.

It was Maxton who spoke. She did not look at him, but she knew that he was smiling as he said, ‘Brought you here? Now I wonder why we did.’

She put up a hand and passed it across her eyes.

‘Why did you?’ she said, and her voice trembled in spite of herself. It wasn’t deliberate, but she thought afterwards that she couldn’t have done better. The thought slid into her mind and out again.

Maxton laughed.

‘We thought it would be a nice quiet place for you to make up your mind in. It’s the fortunate girl you are, you know, to have two men to choose from and perfect peace and quiet to do it in.’

She spoke quickly, unguardedly.

‘What do you mean?’

She was looking at him now. Her eyes hated what they saw. He smiled, and it was all she could do not to throw anything she could reach at him. If she were to give way to that, it would be the end, and she knew it. Their eyes met, clashed. She looked away. She looked at Ross. He sat sullen, not looking at her, and drew on the tablecloth with his fork. She spoke to him.

‘What does he mean?’

But it was Maxton who answered her.

‘I mean that you’re a lucky girl. You’ve got a choice. You can take the one of us you like best, and after a month’s honeymoon, or maybe longer if you’re obstinate, we’ll get a special licence, and we’ll make it all quite legal and moral for you in your aunt’s own parish church. Whichever of us you choose, he’ll be man enough to see you don’t change your mind. Now which is it to be-your cousin Ross or myself? You can have the day to make up your mind. And it’s no good thinking you can run away, because we’ll both be here waiting anxiously for your decision.’

She went back a step, her two hands at her breast, her eyes on Ross. He was jabbing the fork into the cloth. She said faintly, ‘What does he mean?’

Ross turned away from her, turned to Maxton and said, ‘I told you she doesn’t know.’

Anne held on to herself. Of the two she was much, much less afraid of Ross. It might be possible-she didn’t know… She said in a wondering, frightened tone, ‘Are you my cousin?’ and he said, ‘Yes.’ She turned to face him. ‘What does he mean?’

Ross didn’t answer. He was looking at Maxton. She moved back a step. Maxton nodded carelessly.

‘Go along and think it over,’ he said. ‘You can have your cousin Ross, or you can have me. That’s more choice than many would give you, and more choice than many would get. You can have him, or you can have me, and you can have a day to think it over-not any longer. If you don’t choose, we’ll toss for you and let the best man win.’

She went backwards step by step as he spoke. He filled her with such fear and disgust that she could not be sure that she would not faint. She looked at Ross and saw that there was no help in him. There was no help in anyone except herself. She reached the door and put out her hand behind her to open it. She went out without turning, and so to the stairs. Then she turned with a slow and stiff motion and went up to her room and locked herself in.