She was at all events an irreproachable listener. Lying back against the pillows, her hands clasped behind her head, she followed his narrative with an absorbed interest that showed itself plainly in her eyes. She made no attempt to interrupt him or to ask questions--indeed with the exception of occasionally knocking off the ash of her cigarette into the breakfast tray, she remained as motionless and silent as a Kirchner picture. "And that," observed Tony in conclusion, "is as far as we've got to at present. At least it's all I know for certain. Of course I may get back to find that Guy and Isabel have been murdered in the garden." He rose from the bed, and crossing to the fireplace tossed away the stump of his cigarette, which he had allowed to go out. "Well, what do you say, Molly?" he added cheerfully. "Are you prepared to come in with us, and do your bit in saving Peter from bigamy?" Molly sat up in bed, her blue eyes gleaming with a brisk and businesslike determination. "I should think I was," she observed crisply. "If any one imagines I've taken all the trouble of training and educating Peter for nothing, they're making a fat mistake." She shook back her hair with a resolute gesture that spoke volumes for her sincerity. "Tony," she said, "you're a brick. I really don't know how to thank you." "There's nothing to thank me for," said Tony. "I have taken up the case in the interests of European morals. I don't approve of a young man marrying, when he already has a wife in the sight of Heaven." "Not only in the sight of Heaven," returned Molly with spirit. "In the sight of the Registrar of Chelmsford as well." There was a brief pause. "Good Lord!" said Tony slowly. "Is that a fact?" Molly half jumped up in bed, and then sitting down again, pulled up the counterpane. "I can't get out," she said, "this nightdress isn't respectable. Just go to the dressing-table, Tony--there's a dear--and open that top drawer on the right. You'll find a jewel-case inside--a brown one." Tony did as he was commanded, and took out a small Russia leather box, with Molly's initials in gold stamped upon the lid. "Here you are," she said, holding out her hand. "Now give me that little bunch of keys by the brush." She opened the box, and rummaging inside extracted a slip of paper, which she unfolded and glanced through before handing it to Tony. "How about that?" she inquired with a sort of dispassionate triumph. Tony took the document, and sitting down again on the foot of the bed, spread it out in front of him. It was the ordinary registrar's form of marriage certificate, dated at Chelmsford six months previously, and it set out in the restrained but convincing style adopted by such authors, that on the date in question Mary Monk, daughter of John Monk, game-keeper, and Pedro da Talles, son of Pedro da Talles, gentleman, had seen fit to enter into the bonds of Holy Matrimony.