At twenty past six, Vera felt that to sit there longer was unbearable. She would go to her room and bathe her aching head and temples in cold water.

She got up and went towards the door. Then she remembered and came back and got a candle out of the box. She lighted it, let a little wax pour into a saucer and stuck the candle firmly to it. Then she went out of the room, shutting the door behind her and leaving the four men inside. She went up the stairs and along the passage to her room.

As she opened her door, she suddenly halted and stood stock still.

Her nostrils quivered.

The sea… The smell of the sea at St. Tredennick…

That was it. She could not be mistaken. Of course one smelt the sea on an island anyway, but this was different. It was the smell there had been on the beach that day – with the tide out and the rocks covered with seaweed drying in the sun.

«Can I swim out to the island, Miss Claythorne?»

«Why can’t I swim out to the island?..»

Horrid whiny spoilt little brat! If it weren’t for him, Hugo would be rich… able to marry the girl he loved…

Hugo…

Surely – surely – Hugo was beside her? No, waiting for her in the room…

She made a step forward. The draught from the window caught the flame of the candle. It flickered and went out…

Tn the dark she was suddenly afraid…

«Don’t be a fool,» Vera Claythorne urged herself. «It’s all right. The others are downstairs. All four of them. There’s no one in the room. There can’t be. You’re imagining things, my girl.»

But that smell – that smell of the beach at St. Tredennick… That wasn’t imagined. It was true…

And there was some one in the room… She had heard something – surely she had heard something…

And then, as she stood there, listening – a cold, clammy hand touched her throat – a wet hand, smelling of the sea…