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she were alive-of course there's nothing more to be said."
         "I suppose it's hardly to be judged on purely social grounds - I mean, it's something more than a club."
         "Eh? Judged? Never judged anything in my life, except at a flower show. I came here because I thought it had something to do with science. Now that I find it's something more like a political conspiracy, I shall go home."
         "You mean, I suppose, that the social planning doesn't appeal to you? I can understand that it doesn't fit in with your work as it does with sciences like sociology, but--"
         "There are no sciences like sociology. And if I found chemistry beginning to fit in with a secret police run by a middle-aged virago who doesn't wear corsets and a scheme for taking away his farm and his shop and his children from every Englishman, I'd let chemistry go to the devil and take up gardening again."
         "Bill!" said Fairy Hardcastle suddenly, from the far side of the table.
         Hingest fixed his eyes upon her and his face grew a dark red.
         "Is it true," bawled the Fairy, "that you're off by car after dinner?"
         "Yes, Miss Hardcastle, it is."
         "I was wondering if you could give me a lift."
         "I should be happy to do so," said Hingest in a voice not intended to deceive, "if we are going in the same direction."
         "Will you be passing Brenstock?"
         "No, I go down Potter's Lane."
         "Oh, damn! No good to me. I may as well wait till the morning."
         After this Mark found himself engaged by his left-hand neighbour and did not see Bill the Blizzard again until he met him in the hall after dinner. He was in his overcoat and just ready to step into his car.
         He began talking as he opened the door, and Mark was drawn into accompanying him across the gravel sweep to his car.
         "Take my advice, Studdock," he said. "You'll do yourself no good by getting mixed up with the N.I.C.E.-and, by God, you'll do nobody else any good either."
         "I suppose there are two views about everything," said
         Mark.
         "Eh? Two views? There are a dozen views about everything until you know the answer. Goodnight."
         He started up the car and drove off.
         Jane came back from St. Anne's very little pleased with her interview, and had no sooner reached the flat than the telephone went. "Is that you, Jane?" came a voice. "It's me, Margaret Dimble. Such a dreadful thing's happened. I'll tell you when I come. I'm too angry to speak at the moment. Have you a spare bed by any chance? What? Mr. Studdock's away? Not a bit, if you don't mind. I've sent Cecil to sleep in College. You're sure it won't be a nuisance ? Thanks most awfully. I'll be round in half an hour."
    CHAPTER FOUR
         THE LIQUIDATION OF ANACHRONISMS
         ALMOST before Jane had finished putting clean sheets on Mark's bed, Mrs. Dimble arrived. "You're an angel to have me," she said. "We'd tried every hotel in Edgestow I believe. All full up with the hangers-on and camp followers of this detestable N.I.C.E. Secretaries here- typists there-commissioners of works-the thing's outrageous. If Cecil hadn't had a room in College I really believe he'd have had to sleep in the waiting-room at the station. I only hope that man in College has aired the bed."
         "But what on earth's happened?" asked Jane. "Turned out, my dear!"
         "But it isn't possible, Mrs. Dimble. I mean, it can't be legal."
         "That's what Cecil said. . Just think of it, Jane. The first thing we saw when we poked our heads out of the window this morning was a lorry on the drive and a small army of what looked like criminals with picks and spades. There was an odious little man in a peaked cap who said they'd have no objection to our remaining in possession (of the house, mind you, not the garden) till eight o'clock tomorrow morning. No objection!"
         "But surely-surely-it must be