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just in case,’ I said.
    â€˜No, no I won’t do that, John. I can’t really, I have no idea where I’ll be. I’ll keep in touch. I shall write to you every so often, let you know how I’m doing,’ his voice quavered, ‘John, I have the strongest intuition! I know—just know—that I’m going to find Ruth.’
    â€˜I hope so, Ralph. It’s been a long, worrying time for you. You’ve taken it bravely; I admire you.’
    He was pleased with my praise and I asked him—because I felt that it might be true—whether or not he was acting not on intuition alone, but on some information that Ruth actually had been seen by someone in the district he was about to travel to. He replied, saying he would prefer not to tell me more than he already had, for he felt the virtue would go out of his plans if he talked too much about them.
    â€˜But,’ he repeated, ‘I’ll keep in touch, John.’ Then he had smiled whimsically, saying, ‘I have never liked goodbyes. Say goodbye to Molly for me?’
    â€˜Yes, of course, and good luck!’ I called after him as he walked away. He certainly deserved a holiday, I thought, even if he was going a strange way about it. A vision of Ruth Moyston flashed through my mind. Ruth, so overbearing, so loud mouthed. I wondered about her. Has she also changed very much? As much, say, as poor Molly?
    I went over to the Moystons’ to tell Molly that it was useless knocking on the door or calling out any more, because Ralph had already departed, and later on, I asked her why she had wanted to speak so urgently to Ralph.
    She had replied wearily, saying, ‘Urgently? I merely wished to say goodbye to Ralph, and, oh yes, there was a matter I had wanted to discuss with him …’ After a short pause she continued on, saying, ‘He might never come back to his lonely life here.’
    Her voice was gentle and wistful. We were standing by the rock-garden and she seemed to be addressing her words to it, rather than to me.
    â€˜Ralph! Never come back?’ I laughed, ‘Why should you think that, Molly? Of course Ralph will come back, he has only got three months’ leave.’
    â€˜Yes, of course!’ she murmured. ‘Only three months.’
    Molly wandered off to the tool-shed and I returned to the house. It was Sunday. The neighbourhood was quiet and I intended to spend the day cleaning and polishing.
    I got to work with the noisy, outmoded vacuum cleaner and I remembered that I had not asked Molly what it was that she had wished to discuss with Ralph. I wasn’t especially interested but I decided to ask her later on that evening. However, certain events prevented me from doing so.
    During the afternoon, the house agent that Ralph had spoken of came to pick up the key. He was accompanied by another man, a possible tenant, I presumed. His face was vaguely familiar. I looked at him more closely, then I exclaimed, ‘Of course! Mr Grey! I remember you! You made those enquiries into the disappearance of ourneighbour, Mrs Ruth Moyston! What a coincidence! I mean a coincidence if you rent their house!’ And I added, ‘She is still missing! Did you know?’
    â€˜Yes,’ he said with a grin, ‘I never lose interest in a case I have been involved in, especially if it remains unsolved.’ He told me that if the Moyston house was suitable he would rent it. Then he said thank you, and goodbye, and went off to view the shabby, run-down dwelling.
    I went back to my house cleaning and I kept at it until I heard Molly, who was in the bathroom, retching as though she were about to die.
    Against her wishes, I called a doctor, who, after examining her, said that the only explanation he had for her condition was extreme nervous tension. He left some sleeping tablets and I was surprised when she more than obeyed his orders and swallowed not one tablet, but two.

Chapter Five
    Ruth, another