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Pilgrims’ Way,
    And leave his Rest, he’ll find nor rest nor stay.
    Stay Pilgrim in thy Rest, or thou shalt find
    Ill luck before, Death but one pace behind.” ’
    He gave a short nervous laugh.
    ‘A lot of nonsense, but I should think everyone in the village believes that’s why the mare bolted and my father broke his neck.’
    Miss Silver continued to knit.
    ‘Superstitions are extremely tenacious. After your father’s death, Major Pilgrim, were the negotiations for the sale carried on?’
    ‘Well, as a matter of fact they weren’t. You see, by that time I’d managed to get taken prisoner. I was in a prisoner-of-war camp in Italy, and nothing more happened. Then when Musso got the sack, I escaped. I was in hospital for a bit, and then I got home. The chap who wanted to buy the place bobbed up again, and I thought I’d play. That’s when the ceiling came down on me.’
    Miss Silver coughed.
    ‘Literally—or metaphorically?’
    Seeing that he was a little out of his depth, she amended her question.
    ‘Do you mean that the ceiling really came down?’
    That emphatic nod again.
    ‘I should just about think it did! Rather a spot ceiling too—nymphs, and garlands, and all that sort of thing. It’s not the best bedroom—that’s next door—but the eighteenth-century chap who put in the ceiling there had it carried on into his dressing-room. He cribbed it from some Italian palace, and it’s the sort of thing people come and look at. Well, about a month ago my particular lot came down all over where I’d have been if I had been in bed, which I would have been if I hadn’t gone to sleep over a poisonously dull book in the study.’
    ‘Dear me! Why did it come down?’
    ‘Because there was a leak from one of the water-pipes and the nymphs and whatnots had all got wringing wet. They weighed quite enough to start with, and the water brought them down like a cartload of bricks. If I’d been in that bed I’d have been dead—there isn’t any doubt about that.’
    ‘A very providential escape. I think you mentioned another incident?’
    He nodded.
    ‘A week ago. There’s a sort of small room my father used to keep his papers in. Odd sort of place. Pigeon-holes right up to the ceiling, all crammed with papers. Well, I’d been getting on with going through them a bit at a time, and last Tuesday afternoon I’d had a good old worry at them. Round about half past six I had a drink, and the next thing I knew I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I sat down in a chair by the fire and went to sleep. I must have been dead to the world, because I didn’t wake up till the whole place was in a blaze. I don’t know what started it. It could have been a spark from the fire—wood throws them out—and there was a pretty fair litter of papers, one of them might have caught. But what made me go off to sleep like that, and why didn’t I wake up? I’m a pretty light sleeper, you know.’
    Miss Silver said, ‘What do you mean?’
    The frowning gaze met hers.
    ‘I think someone doped me and set light to the papers,’ said Roger Pilgrim.

FOUR
    M ISS S ILVER LAID down her knitting, balancing it carefully on the arm of her chair, after which she got up and, crossing over to the writing-table, seated herself there, all without hurry. When she had opened a drawer and taken out an exercise-book with a bright green cover she addressed herself to Roger Pilgrim.
    ‘Perhaps you will come over here—it will be more convenient. I should like to take some notes.’
    By the time he had settled himself in an upright chair which faced her across the table she was waiting for him, the exercise-book laid open before her and a neatly pointed pencil in her hand. Her manner, though perfectly kind, was brisk and businesslike as she said,
    ‘If these two incidents were deliberate attempts upon your life, you are certainly in need of advice and protection. But I would like to know a little more. You spoke of a leaky pipe. I suppose that you had