time, the mystery of Bentham's death. It is the same affair; part and parcel of the same tangle."
The Colonel was silent for a few moments. He seemed to be reflecting on Heneage's words.
"I believe you are right," he said at last. "I should be curious to know, though, how you arrived at this decision."
Heneage looked past him at Wrayson.
"You should ask Wrayson," he said.
But Wrayson had risen, and was sauntering towards the door.
"I'm off," he remarked, looking backwards and nodding his farewells. "If I stay here any longer, I shall have nightmare. Time you fellows were in bed, too. How's the Malleni fund, Colonel?"
The Colonel's face relaxed. A smile of genuine pleasure lit up his features.
"Going strong," he declared triumphantly. "We shall ship him off for Italy next week with a very tidy little cheque in his pocket. Dear old Dobson gave us ten pounds, and the concert fund is turning out well."
Wrayson lit a cigarette and looked back from the open door.
"You're more at home with philanthropy than horrors, Colonel," he remarked. "Good night, everybody!"
