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that's the safest place. I just insist now on always having a place near the rear doors. Did you hear that, Miss Hetherington?” She turned her head to include another middle-aged lady. This one was uncompromisingly British with a long, sad, horselike face. “It's just as I was saying the other day. Whenever you go into an aeroplane, don't you let those air hostesses take you right up to the front.”
    “I suppose someone has to sit at the front,” said Hilary.
    “Well, it won't be me,” said her new American friend promptly. “My name's Baker, by the way, Mrs. Calvin Baker.”
    Hilary acknowledged the introduction and Mrs. Baker plunged on, monopolising the conversation easily.
    “I've just come here from Mogador and Miss Hetherington has come from Tangier. We became acquainted here. Are you going to visit Marrakesh, Mrs. Betterton?”
    “I'd arranged to do so,” said Hilary. “Of course, this accident has thrown out all my time schedule.”
    “Why, naturally, I can see that. But you really mustn't miss Marrakesh, wouldn't you say so, Miss Hetherington?”
    “Marrakesh is terribly expensive,” said Miss Hetherington. “This miserable travel allowance makes everything so difficult.”
    “There's a wonderful hotel, the Mamounia,” continued Mrs. Baker.
    “Wickedly expensive,” said Miss Hetherington. “Out of the question for me. Of course, it's different for you, Mrs. Baker - dollars, I mean. But someone gave me the name of a small hotel there, really very nice and clean, and the food, they say, is not at all bad.”
    “Where else do you plan to go, Mrs. Betterton?” asked Mrs. Calvin Baker.
    “I would like to see Fez,” said Hilary, cautiously. “I shall have to get fresh reservations, of course.”
    “Oh, yes, you certainly oughtn't to miss Fez or Rabat.”
    “You've been there?”
    “Not yet. I'm planning to go there shortly, and so is Miss Hetherington.”
    “I believe the old city is quite unspoilt,” said Miss Hetherington.
    The conversation continued in desultory fashion for some time further. Then Hilary pleaded fatigue from her first day out of the hospital and went up to her bedroom.
    The evening so far had been quite indecisive. The two women who had talked to her had been such well-known travelling types that she could hardly believe that they were other than they seemed. Tomorrow, she decided, if she had received no word or communication of any kind, she would go to Cook's and raise the question of fresh reservations at Fez and Marrakesh.
    There were no letters, messages or telephone calls the following morning and about eleven o'clock she made her way to the travel agency. There was somewhat of a queue, but when she at last reached the counter and began talking to the clerk, an interruption occurred. A somewhat more senior clerk with glasses elbowed the young man aside. He beamed at Hilary through his glasses.
    “It is Madame Betterton, is it not? I have all your reservations made.”
    “I am afraid,” said Hilary, “that they will be out of date. I have been in hospital and...”
    “Ah, mais oui, I know all that. Let me congratulate you on your escape, Madame. But I got your telephone message about fresh reservations, and we have them here ready for you.”
    Hilary felt a faint quickening of her pulse. As far as she knew no one had phoned the travel agency. Here then were definite signs that Olive Betterton's travelling arrangements were being supervised. She said,
    “I wasn't sure if they had telephoned or not.”
    “But yes, Madame. Here, I will show you.”
    He produced railway tickets, and vouchers for hotel accommodation, and a few minutes later the transactions were completed. Hilary was to leave for Fez on the following day.
    Mrs. Calvin Baker was not in the restaurant either for lunch or dinner. Miss Hetherington was. She acknowledged Hilary's bow as the latter passed to her table, but made no attempt to get into conversation with her. On the following day, after