Spider's Web

"The whole thing's ridiculous," Mrs. Brown snorted. "It's too far-fetched for words."

Clarissa disagreed. "No, it isn't. I think it's a wonderful idea," she declared, as Jeremy returned from the library carrying a small electric radiator. "Got it?" she asked him.

"Here it is," he replied. "Where's the plug?"

"Down there," Clarissa told him, pointing to the socket. She held the radiator while Jeremy plugged its lead into the socket, and then she put it down on the floor.

Sir Rowland took the Robert Browning autograph and stood close to the radiator. Jeremy knelt by it, and the others stood as close as possible to observe the result.

"We mustn't hope for too much," Sir Rowland warned them. "After all, it's only an idea of mine, but there must have been some very good reason why Sellon kept these bits of paper in such a secret place."

"This takes me back years," Hugo recalled. "I remember writing secret messages with lemon juice when I was a kid."

"Which one shall we start with?" Jeremy asked enthusiastically.

"I say Queen Victoria," said Clarissa.

"No, six to one on Ruskin," was Jeremy's guess.

"Well, I'm putting my money on Robert Browning," Sir Rowland decided, bending over and holding the paper in front of the radiator.

"Ruskin? Most obscure chap. I never could understand a word of his poetry," Hugo felt moved to comment.

"Exactly," Sir Rowland agreed. "It's full of hidden meaning."

They all craned over Sir Rowland. "I can't bear it if nothing happens," Clarissa exclaimed.

"I believe... yes, there's something there," Sir Rowland murmured.

"Yes, there is something coming up," Jeremy noticed.

"Is there? Let me see," said Clarissa excitedly.

Hugo pushed between Clarissa and Jeremy. "Out of the way, young man."

"Steady," Sir Rowland complained. "Don't joggle me... yes... there is writing." He paused for a moment, and then straightened up with a cry of "We've got it!"

"What have you got?" Mrs. Brown wanted to know.

"A list of six names and addresses," Sir Rowland told them. "Distributors in the drug racket, I should say. And one of those names is Oliver Costello."

There were exclamations all around. "Oliver!" said Clarissa. "So that's why he came, and someone must have followed him and – oh, Uncle Roly, we must tell the police. Come along, Hugo."

Clarissa rushed to the hall door, followed by Hugo who, as he went, was muttering, "Most extraordinary thing I ever heard of." Sir Rowland picked up the other autographs, while Jeremy unplugged the radiator and took it back into the library.

About to follow Clarissa and Hugo out, Sir Rowland paused in the doorway. "Coming, Miss Peake?" he asked.

"You don't need me, do you?"

"I think we do. You were Sellon's partner."

"I've never had anything to do with the drug business," Mrs. Brown insisted. "I just ran the antique side. I did all the London buying and selling."

"I see," Sir Rowland replied noncommittally as he held the hall door open for her. They both left, and a moment later Jeremy returned from the library, closing the door carefully behind him. He went over to the hall door and listened for a moment, then returned to the centre of the room. After a glance at Pippa, he went over to the easy chair, picked up the cushion from it, and moved slowly back towards the sofa where Pippa lay sleeping.

Pippa stirred in her sleep. Jeremy stood frozen for a moment, but when he was certain she was still asleep, he continued towards the sofa until he stood behind Pippa's head. Then, slowly, he began to lower the cushion over her face.

At that moment, Clarissa re-entered the room from the hall. Hearing the door, Jeremy carefully placed the cushion over Pippa's feet. "I remembered what Sir Rowland said," he explained to Clarissa, "so I thought perhaps we oughtn't to leave Pippa all alone. Her feet seemed a bit cold, so I was just covering them up."

Clarissa went across to the stool. "All this excitement has made me feel terribly hungry," she declared. She looked down at the plate of sandwiches, and then continued in a tone of great disappointment, "Oh Jeremy, you've eaten them all."

"Sorry, but I was starving," he said, sounding not at all sorry.

"I don't see why you should be," she reprimanded him. "You've had dinner. I haven't."

Jeremy perched on the back of the sofa. "No, I haven't had any dinner either," he told her. "I was practising approach shots. I only came into the dining-room just after your telephone call came."

"Oh, I see," Clarissa replied nonchalantly. She bent over the back of the sofa to pat the cushion. Suddenly her eyes widened. In a deeply moved voice she repeated, "I see. You – it was you."

"What do you mean," asked Jeremy.

"You!" Clarissa repeated, almost to herself.

"What do you mean by 'You'?"

Clarissa looked him in the eye. "What were you doing with that cushion when I came into the room?" she asked.

He laughed. "I told you. I was covering up Pippa's feet. They were cold."

"Were you? Is that really what you were going to do? Or were you going to put that cushion over her mouth?"