Raphael Craig walked towards the house. In three minutes, the cars being safely housed in a shed which formed part of some farm buildings, Richard and Teresa joined him in the spacious hall of the abode. Supper was served in the hall, because, as Teresa said, the hall was the coolest place in the house. Except an oldish, stout woman, who went up the stairs while they were at supper, Richard saw no sign of a domestic servant. Before the meal, which consisted of cold fowl, a pasty, and some more than tolerable claret, was finished, Raphael Craig excused himself, said ‘Good-night’ abruptly, and retired into one of the rooms on the ground-floor. Richard and Teresa were then left alone. Not a word further had been exchanged between father and daughter as to the daughter’s adventures on the road. So far as the old man’s attitude implied anything at all, it implied that Teresa’s regular custom was to return home at one in the morning after adventures with motor-cars and elephants. Richard thought this lack of curiosity on the part of the old man remarkably curious, especially as Raphael and his daughter were obviously very much attached to each other. ‘The circus was amusing this afternoon,’ Richard remarked. The talk had flagged. ‘Where was it?’ Teresa asked. ‘At Dunstable,’ said Richard. ‘Really!’ she said, ‘I had not heard!’ This calm and nonchalant lie astounded Richard. She was a beautiful girl--vivacious, fresh, charming. She could not have long passed her twentieth year, and her face seemed made of innocence and lilies. Yet she lied like a veteran deceiver. It was amusing. Richard removed his spectacles, wiped them, and replaced them. ‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘I went to the afternoon performance. The clowns were excellent, and there was a lady rider, named Juana, who was the most perfect horsewoman I have ever seen.’ Not a muscle of that virginal face twitched. ‘Indeed!’ said Teresa. ‘I thought, perhaps, you had been with friends to the evening performance,’ Richard said. ‘Oh no!’ Teresa answered. ‘I had had a much longer journey. Of course, as I overtook those absurd elephants in the cutting, I knew that there must be a circus somewhere in the neighbourhood.’ Then there was another lull in the conversation. ‘More wine, Mr. Redgrave?’ Teresa invited him. He thanked her and took another glass, and between the sips said: ‘I am told this is a great chalk district--there are large chalk-pits, are there not?’ ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you can see them from our windows. Very ugly they look, too!’ ‘So far, good!’ Richard privately reflected. He had, at any rate, learnt that the Craigs had something to conceal. The hall clock struck three. Outside it was broad daylight. ‘That is a quarter of an hour fast,’ said Teresa. ‘But perhaps it might be as well to go to bed. You are probably not used to these hours, Mr. Redgrave? I am. Micky! Micky!’