People hounded him about the disappearances mercilessly for weeks after the concert, first the police, then the Becks, then people from school. ’ ‘Yes, it’s all my fault,’ he agreed soothingly, ‘and you may rail at me presently as much as you please. ‘What are you going to do now, Gerald?’ He sipped his wine and shrugged. Miss Stanley reflected on this proposal for a moment. She went to her bedroom, but she did not go to bed. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. Mac—the old gossip—knew about everything going on in that part of the world; and if Enschede was anything up to the picture the girl had drawn, McClintock would have heard of him, naturally. “Not at all.
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