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them to someone else—even one’s very dear daughter. Will you just take it from me that it wasn’t a simple issue, and that neither of us was blameless ? ”
    “All right.” Marilyn gave her mother a not very well aimed kiss which landed on the bridge of her nose. “Now you phone Dad and if he is in—I’ll apologise.”
    Clare gave a vexed little laugh. And she would have been more than human if she had not felt a certain sense of triumph and relief when Greg’s voice answered her as soon as the connection had been made.
    “Greg, it’s Clare!” The fact that she made a small face at her younger daughter across the room might have accounted for the fact that her voice sounded light and almost gay. “I think we have news of Pat at last.” And rapidly she explained the success of Jerry Penrose’s investigations.
    “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? I have the phone number of the garage, and I’ll phone in the morning. And then, when I have Pat’s address, we could—I mean I will, if you like—”
    “We’re both going down there,” he told her firmly. “We’ll take the car. It will be the easiest way of bringing back the child and her luggage. Heaven knows what sort of problem we shall find when we get there, but we’ll worry about that when we have to. Thank God! It does sound like the real answer, doesn’t it ? ”
    “Yes. Wait a moment, Greg! Mari is making signs.” Clare took the receiver away from her ear and said, “What is it, dear?”
    “The apology.” Marilyn held out her hand.
    “I thought you were making that to me!” Her mother looked amused.
    “No. To Dad.” Marilyn took the receiver and said, “Hello, Dad. I owe you an apology. I told Mother it was no use ringing you because you’d be out on the town, enjoying yourself.”
    There was a short—perhaps stunned—silence at the other end. Then her father’s voice said, “What made you think that, child ? ”
    “I thought you didn’t really care very much about what happened to any of us.” She ignored her mother’s gasp in the background. “Mother insisted I was wrong. It seems she knew best. I’m sorry.” Then she quietly replaced the receiver, said goodnight to her mother and went to her room.
    It was Marilyn who slept badly that night, then heavily towards morning, and who was roused from heavy veils of sleep by her mother’s voice calling, “There’s a letter! Mari, there’s a letter in Pat’s writing. Can I come in ? ”
    “Yes, of course!” Marilyn struggled into a sitting position and rubbed her eyes. “Read it, Mother! What does she say ? ”
    “It’s very short.” With unsteady hands Clare had ripped open the envelope and drawn out the single sheet. “She says—‘Dear Mother, This is just to tell you that I am perfectly safe and well. There is no need for you to worry about me. But I am staying away from home for the time being.—Love, Pat.’ ”
    “Is that all she says?” exclaimed Marilyn, divided between admiration and irritation at her sister’s masterly brevity.
    “That’s—all.” Clare turned the sheet over and over in her hands, as though she must surely find a fresh clue or piece of information somewhere. “But it explains nothing—nothing! The child must be ill. It’s some sort of breakdown. She couldn’t write like that otherwise. Not a word of real explanation—not a hint. Just that she’s staying away from home for the time being. She can’t even have very much money left by now!”
    There were tears of disappointment and bewilderment in Clare’s eyes, and Marilyn with difficulty prevented herself from saying that she had at least replenished Pat’s funds with ten pounds. Instead, she said mechanically,
    “Don’t cry, Mother. At least we know she is safe.”
    “I’m not crying. And thanks to Jerry Penrose, she should be back with us in a matter of hours. But she must be ill, my poor little Pat. What other explanation is there? I’m going to phone that garage now and