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Page 111
"Nothing. What does it suggest to you?"
"Absolutely nothing. Let us try again. Whoever took the scarab
must have had special information that Peters was offering the
reward."
"Then why hasn't he been to Mr. Peters and claimed it?"
"True! That would seem to be a flaw in the reasoning. Once again:
Whoever took it must have been in urgent and immediate need of
money."
"And how are we to find out who was in urgent and immediate need
of money?"
"Exactly! How indeed?"
There was a pause.
"I should think your Mr. Quayle must have been a great comfort to
his clients, wasn't he?" said Joan.
"Inductive reasoning, I admit, seems to have fallen down to a
certain extent," said Ashe. "We must wait for the coincidence. I
have a feeling that it will come." He paused. "I am very
fortunate in the way of coincidences."
"Are you?"
Ashe looked about him and was relieved to find that they appeared
to be out of earshot of their species. It was not easy to achieve
this position at the castle if you happened to be there as a
domestic servant. The space provided for the ladies and gentlemen
attached to the guests was limited, and it was rarely that you
could enjoy a stroll without bumping into a maid, a valet or a
footman; but now they appeared to be alone. The drive leading to
the back regions of the castle was empty. As far as the eye could
reach there were no signs of servants--upper or lower.
Nevertheless, Ashe lowered his voice.
"Was it not a strange coincidence," he said, "that you should
have come into my life at all?"
"Not very," said Joan prosaically. "It was quite likely that we
should meet sooner or later, as we lived on different floors of
the same house."
"It was a coincidence that you should have taken that room."
"Why?"
Ashe felt damped. Logically, no doubt, she was right; but surely
she might have helped him out a little in this difficult
situation. Surely her woman's intuition should have told her that
a man who has been speaking in a loud and cheerful voice does
not lower it to a husky whisper without some reason. The
hopelessness of his task began to weigh on him.
Ever since that evening at Market Blandings Station, when he
realized that he loved her, he had been trying to find an
opportunity to tell her so; and every time they had met, the talk
had seemed to be drawn irresistibly into practical and
unsentimental channels. And now, when he was doing his best to
reason it out that they were twin souls who had been brought
together by a destiny it would be foolish to struggle against;
when he was trying to convey the impression that fate had designed
them for each other--she said, "Why?" It was hard.
He was about to go deeper into the matter when, from the
direction of the castle, he perceived the Honorable Freddie's
valet--Mr. Judson--approaching. That it was this repellent young
man's object to break in on them and rob him of his one small
chance of inducing Joan to appreciate, as he did, the mysterious
workings of Providence as they affected herself and him, was
obvious. There was no mistaking the valet's desire for
conversation. He had the air of one brimming over with speech.
His wonted indolence was cast aside; and as he drew nearer he
positively ran. He was talking before he reached them.
"Miss Simpson, Mr. Marson, it's true--what I said that night.
It's a fact!"
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