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“Just what I’d like,” she said warmly, and smiled at Martin knowing that in saying that, she had removed the very last fear he might have that her heart was not wholly his.

Then Martin rather gravely asked the question that was at the back of everyone’s mind.

“What about Mrs. Trevose—Franks, I mean?”

Anthony’s mouth tightened and Fenella saw that Rosemary’s expression grew anxious.

“At present, having no address, there’s nothing we can do,” he pointed out. “So, as far as Rosemary and I are concerned, that would seem to be the answer—but for you two—” he shrugged his shoulders—“that’s your concern.”

“Well, again, there’s nothing to be done in the meantime,” Martin said. “Fenella and I haven’t talked over dates yet, but if she’s agreeable, I’d like us to be married in about a month’s time. I’ve got to get that confounded book finished within that time, and it’s pretty evident now that I’ve got to rely on my imagination for the final chapter. Pity, I’d have liked it to be the genuine article—”

The door opened and a slightly flustered maid came in.

“It’s Miss Prosser, sir,” she explained to Anthony. “She says she must see you at once, and I really had to come and tell you, for she’s in a proper
state
— !"

“DEAD on cue,” Anthony murmured. “Here, if I’m not mistaken, comes your final chapter, Martin—or Providence has no sense of the dramatic! Yes, send her in, Annie.”

A few moments later Miss Prosser came in—such an obviously distraught Miss Prosser that it was clear Annie had not exaggerated in saying that she was in a state.

Her queer, odd-coloured eyes were wide and staring and yet, as they roved over the four people present, they seemed unable to focus on anything.

‘You wanted to see me, Miss Prosser?” Anthony asked gently as he led her to a chair. “Sit down and tell me all about it, won’t you?”

With the jerky movements of a marionette, Miss Prosser sat down, her hat askew and wisps of hair straggling over her face. She looked terribly tired and years older than before.

“So you’ve-got him arrested after all,” she said in a flat, expressionless voice.

“There was no alternative, Miss Prosser,” Anthony told her gravely. “Polwyn shot and wounded a policeman. After that—”

Miss Prosser nodded.

“That’s what I was told,” she admitted. “Well, he always was violent, right from a boy. Many a time I’ve heard his mother say he’d come to a bad end.” She smoothed her knee with a shaking hand. “And now it’s come true—”

She paused, and no one could find anything to say that could possibly be helpful. At last she went on again:

“I suppose you know I lied about Tom being with me that day you were attacked?” she asked Martin miserably.

“It’s always seemed a possibility,” he admitted. "What made you do it, Miss Prosser? Are you very fond of Polwyn?”

“No,” she said dully. “No, I’ve never really liked him. When we were children he always teased and tormented me. And then, after Mother died, I was afraid of him. That’s why I told the police what he said I’d got to.”

Once again her voice faded away, and then Anthony asked the question that was on the tip of both Fenella’s and Martin’s tongues.

“Why were you afraid of him after your mother died, Miss Prosser?”

“Because of what she told me—and what she trusted to me,” she explained, and fumbled clumsily in her handbag. “I was afraid he’d find out that I’d got—
this I”
and she held out a small, flat object in her trembling hand. “Please take it, Mr. Anthony. I can’t stand having it any longer, particularly now I know who it belongs to really!”

Slowly Anthony turned over what she had given him in his hands. Then, silently, he passed it over to Martin, who stared at it incredulously. A small brown leather case, hardly worn at all—

With hands that shook almost as much as Miss Prosser’s he opened the case—and caught his breath at what he saw.

An oval piece of ivory painted with the head and shoulders of a pretty girl who held, cheek to cheek with her, a lovely little child—both dead so many years ago, yet because of the skill with which the artist had depicted the two happy, laughing faces, seeming to have imperishable life.

The tears sprang to Fenella’s eyes and neither she nor the two men spoke as they remembered how soon tragedy had struck this happy family.

“It was the diamonds, of course, that they were after,” Miss Prosser explained listlessly. “Must be worth quite a bit, I suppose.”

And then, to their own astonishment, they realised that the frame of the miniature had passed unnoticed in their interest in the painting itself.

“Who
were after them, Miss Prosser?” Martin^ asked in a muted voice, his eyes intent on the lovely thing he held. “Will you tell us all you know about this?”

“Well—” she began rather grudgingly, “I suppose you know something about it yourself, don’t you? Your name being what it is.”

“Something,” he admitted. “But there’s a part of the story missing. The miniature was entrusted to my namesake to bring back to England as a gift to the parents of the young mother. He sailed on the
Nimrod
. Unfortunately one of the crew got a glimpse of it and when the ship reached Falmouth, he deserted. His name was— Abel Prosser. We’ve always imagined that he had made his way across country to Fairhaven and that the information he gave led to
Nimrod
being wrecked?”

“Yes, that was the way of it,” Miss Prosser agreed, shivering. “I suppose it’s no wonder Tom’s such a violent man, seeing he came of a line of wreckers and pirates.” She pondered. “I suppose this ancestor of yours got ashore with the little picture? But how did he come to know of the cave?”

“Elizabeth Trefusis helped him ashore and showed him,” Martin explained. “They were married afterwards in America. When they left the cave a few days after the wreck, they accidentally left the miniature behind. Who found it, Miss Prosser?”

“The girl who finally married Ebenezer Prosser that Elizabeth Trefusis had been promised to,” Miss Prosser explained. “A sensible, practical sort of body, she must have been, for all that she had a soft spot for Ebenezer, so the story goes. Well, when Elizabeth went off like that, Anne jumped at the chance. Made up to Ebenezer and caught him on the rebound, as you might say. But she had the sense to keep quiet about
that”
stabbing her finger in the direction of the miniature. “You see, no one knew there’d been a survivor, so it never occurred to anybody to hunt for him or anything he might have brought ashore. Well, this girl Anne, she found it by chance, some few months after she’d married Ebenezer. And knowing what sort of man he was, she knew he’d keep it or else sell it and keep the money. Then, so she reckoned, somebody would find out and there’d be more violence and bloodshed. And that she didn’t want. So she held her peace.”

“You make it sound as if it happened only yesterday, Miss Prosser," Martin marvelled, “or as if you knew this girl, Anne.”

“Well, you see, the story’s been passed down by word of mouth, just as the painting’s been passed down, from one woman to another,” Miss Prosser explained. “Anne, she passed it on to her son’s wife and she in her turn did the same thing. And so it’s gone on. No one knew who it really belonged to and each successive wife, knowing the Prosser men only too well, kept quiet. Then, seeing my mother and father never had a son. Mother gave it to me. And who to pass it on to when my time came I couldn’t think. Then overhearing you talking about it one night-—”

“Ah, so there
was
someone listening!” Martin said with satisfaction.

“Yes, me,” Miss Prosser sniffed. “And I almost came in then and told you—only I couldn’t pluck up courage. You see, having told that lie for Tom, I didn’t quite know where I stood—” she looked timidly at Anthony.

“I don’t think you need worry about that, Miss Prosser,” he reassured her. “I think you’ll have to tell the police about it, but you’ve made the statement to me voluntarily, and it’s quite clear to me, as a J.P., that you were acting under duress—we’ll sort that one out in the morning! In the meantime, would you like me to drive you home—or would you like to stay here for the night?”

“I’d sooner go home. I mean, now I’ve got rid of that thing and anyway, Tom’s in prison, I've got nothing to be afraid of. I’d be grateful for a lift, Mr. Anthony. I’m beginning to realise I'm not as young as I was—”

“None of us is,” Anthony said ruefully. “Coming, Rosemary?”

It seemed that the old Adam in Miss Prosser was not yet entirely vanquished, for her odd eyes glinted with shrewd curiosity. Anthony took pity on her.

“You shall be the first outside the family to know our news, Miss Prosser,” he told her. “Mrs. Maidment and I are going to be married at once, and Miss Fenella and Mr. Adair are going to follow suit in a month’s time.”

“Well, I’m sure I wish you all every happiness,” Miss Prosser said with a return of her old sprightliness. “Not the way
some
people wanted to arrange things, but I can’t say it surprises
me!
It wouldn’t have done at all any other way! ”

“No? Why?” Anthony asked, amused at her assumption of omniscience.

“Oh well, it stands to reason,” Miss Prosser explained with the sort of patience one might use towards a backward child. “You’ve seen enough of the world to be ready to settle down, Mr. Anthony. So’s Mrs. Maidment. But Miss Fenella—she left the sentence unfinished, but her glance in Fenella’s and Martin’s direction made her meaning perfectly clear.

“Quite right, Miss Prosser,” Martin said cheerfully. “It’s time Miss Fenella saw something of the world, and I intend to show it to her. After that we’ll settle down too, though judging by my experience so far, we’ll probably find life in this country far more exciting than anywhere else in the world.”

“Sure to,”-Miss Prosser told him with conviction. “You’re that sort. You’re attracted to anything with a spice of danger in it the way a moth’s attracted to a candle. It’s just your nature. Oh well, it takes all sorts, I suppose, and perhaps you’ll grow out of it when you’re a bit older,” she finished encouragingly. “And now, Mr. Anthony, shall we be going? My budgie doesn’t like it if I leave him too long.”

“By all means,” Anthony said, hiding his amusement with difficulty. The flabbergasted look on Martin’s face caused by Miss Prosser’s unflattering comments had been almost too much for him.

“Just a minute,” Martin said in a stifled voice. “There’s one more question I’d like to ask before you go, Miss Prosser. Do you mind telling me how the women of your family managed to hide the miniature all these years from their menfolk?”

“Oh, that was quite easy,” she explained casually. “They kept it at the bottom of the flour bin—wrapped up, of course. Perfectly safe. No Prosser man ever did a hand’s turn to help his wife in the house, you see!”

She sailed out of the room, followed by Rosemary and Anthony. Martin turned to Fenella.

“In the flour bin!” he exploded, running his fingers through his hair until it stood on end. “What do you think of that?”

But helpless with laughter, Fenella could only shake her head. Martin grinned ruefully.

“You’re not being very helpful, are you?” he complained reproachfully, “Just think of it—as perfect an adventure-romance as one could want—and it has to end in a flour bin!”

Fenella sobered instantly.

“You mean—after all, you’ll have to make up the end of your book?” she asked anxiously. “You won’t be able to use the true ending?”

“Won’t I?” Martin exclaimed, “You just watch anybody try to stop me!” He picked up the miniature and gazed down at it with wondering eyes, “This incredibly lovely thing—in a flour bin! The absolutely perfect, human touch for my last chapter. I couldn’t have thought of anything half so good if I’d tried for the rest of my life!”

Four weeks later, Anthony and Rosemary gave a dinner party. Their guests were Martin’s parents, Fenella and Martin and—Captain and Mrs. Franks, returned from their own honeymoon just in time for Fenella’s wedding the following day.

Anthony had been frankly doubtful about asking them.

“I admit it’s the natural thing to do,” he told Rosemary. “But it could be awkward, you know. After all, I did give Aunt Gina a pretty free hand here. She was virtually mistress of the house—it could make for difficulties if she doesn’t find it easy to retire gracefully.”

“It could—but it won’t,” Rosemary assured him serenely. “Now she’s got a home of her own, she won’t want to be bothered with running Lyon House. And secondly because—” it was on the tip of her tongue to say :
“because she wouldn’t be so silly as to risk the showdown she’d know there’d be if she tried that game ! After the mischief she tried to make, her one wish will be to keep on my right side!
" But her determination never to let Anthony know of that meeting between Gina and herself was a very genuine one. So with hardly a pause she went on: “She’s got far too much affection for you to be anything else but glad when she sees you’re happy. So just you see to it that you do look convincingly happy! Then everything will be all right.”

“I’ll do my best,” Anthony promised. “No matter how hard it may be!”

Rosemary grimaced at him, blew him a kiss and went off to make final preparations.

On the evening of the dinner, poised, charming and to all appearances perfectly genuine in the warmth of her welcome to the new Mrs. Franks, Rosemary settled once and for all what the relationship between the two houses was to be. They met now and in the future would meet as friendly equals. There would be no question of authority on the score either of age or relationship—and all that made perfectly clear without a word of explanation!

Just how Rosemary had managed it Anthony frankly acknowledged he had no idea, but it confirmed the belief he had held for so many years—there wasn’t another woman in the world who came within miles of his Rosemary!