I was blind, sick. There was a tearing crash, a tongue of fire among the leaves of Harrod’s. Our car had stopped. “Iris!” Sir Maurice whispered. “Iris!” Once again the great tree was lit by a shivering light, then from the darkness there came a grinding, moaning noise as of a great beast in pain. I stood beside Sir Maurice on the road. At the angle at which we had stopped our lights did not fall on the throbbing wreck. He was staring into the darkness. “But that death!” Hilary stammered. “That death!” My foot touched something on the grass beside the road, and I picked up the green hat. Sir Maurice said hoarsely: ‘Chose the only way to make it look like an accident to those two children....” “Here’s her hat.” I muttered, and as Sir Maurice turned to it his face was puckered like a child’s. Suddenly the moaning of the wrecked car ceased, and in the silence Hilary walked into the darkness about the great tree. THE END OF THE ROMANCE CALLED _The Green Hat_ Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: and an absymal bitterness=> and an abysmal bitterness {pg 73} l’aristocratic internationale=> l’aristocratie internationale {pg 152} fissues of splintered wood=> fissures of splintered wood {pg 285}