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“Don’t run any risks.”

“Of course I won’t.”

“How are the children?”

“Very fit.”

“And you?”

“A1.”

“Let me know how—how Mrs. Holmes is, after you’ve seen her.”

“Yes. Shall I call or ’phone?”

“Better telephone, I think.”

“Tonight?”

“Well”—Ann hesitated—“you may be able to give me—more news in the morning. And you’ll have a lot to talk about tonight . . . as Mrs. Holmes has been away so long.”

“Yes—that’s true.”

“Just give me a ring after you arrive in Wairiri. I’d like to know you’ve got through safely.”

“Right-o! Thanks very much for ’phoning.”

“That’s all right. Good-by.”

“Good-by for the present. I’ll call you up later—if I get in before eleven.”

“No, at any time—I’m working late. Doing wretched accounts.”

“Very well. Good-by.”

Ann hung up her receiver. She had done all she could. The future was in the lap of the gods. What would Vera decide to do? Would she be so anxious to regain her freedom now that she knew without any shadow of doubt that Waring was no longer interested in her? Ann had no answer to these questions. Vera was an incalculable being—her actions difficult to foretell with any degree of accuracy.

Ann could only hope that the arrival of Holmes—