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cuss,” observed Craig.

      “That—and he is mad about Claire.”

      Craig eyed him with foreboding. “And I thought of fourth wives and hiccups,” he said. “I imagined I’d covered everything.”

      “Eh?”

      Craig let it ride. He said: “The gag couldn’t be, I suppose, that you want me to impersonate your daughter tonight? Female impersonation isn’t exactly in my line, in or out of the Albert Hall.”

      Burton Malone didn’t laugh, but Craig hadn’t hoped he would.

      “Rozzani happens to be short-sighted—” he said. He continued: “I imagine you could find a young woman who could impersonate my daughter sufficiently to fool him during the performance. The platform is some distance away from the box, and if your girl wore a dress belonging to Claire and did her hair in the same way, I’m sure she’d get away with it.”

      “I’ll have my chorus out immediately so that you can take your pick.”

      Burton Malone frowned.

      “I’m perfectly serious, Mr. Craig.”

      “Is it really all that important? You really believe all this is necessary?”

      Burton Malone assumed the look of somebody whose every whim was always important, no matter what.

      “I wouldn’t be taking up your time, or mine, Mr. Craig, if I didn’t think so.”

      “Have it your way.” Craig was beginning to feel long-suffering. “Rozzani will know about it afterwards?”

      “So long as he gets through the performance, we don’t have to worry about the afterwards. My daughter and Rozzani will have been saved a great deal of anxiety. There is a picture of Claire.”

      His hand went to his breast-pocket and reverently drew forth a studio portrait.

      Craig glanced at it, saying:

      “I’m afraid I can’t offer you much choice.”

      He rang for Simone. As she entered and turned an inquiring glance on him, he asked:

      “Will she do?”

      Burton Malone looked.

      “Couldn’t be better,” he approved at once.

      Craig grinned.

      “Have you heard of Rozzani?” he asked Simone.

      “The violinist?”

      “You’re going to hear him tonight.”

      She smiled uncertainly and managed to look intrigued and surprised simultaneously, and Craig thought the total result entrancing.

      “But it would be lovely.” She looked hopefully at Craig. “And you will be coming too?”

      “Not me,” he smiled. “Mr. Malone is treating you. You’ll be in his box.”

      “Huh?”

      “Actually,” said Craig carefully, “you’ll be wearing his daughter’s dress and hair style and you will be impersonating her.”

      “Will I? But, why?”

      Briefly Craig outlined the way things were and ended tactfully:

      “Claire Malone is extremely pretty, so you have only to be yourself and you’re in.”

      “Thank you.”

      “There’s no danger,” he said sweetly.

      Burton Malone rose from his chair.

      “Well, that’s settled then. I shall be going to the concert direct from my office, but if this young lady will be at my house this evening, my daughter’s maid will fix her up and my car will take her to the Albert Hall.”

      “Nice for you,” said Craig when he had gone. Simone had made her way over to the window.

      “I wonder if that’s the car I shall have,” she said dreamily. “It’s huge.”

      Craig glanced over her shoulder in time to see the chauffeur open the door for Burton Malone and tuck a rug round his knees.

      “Looks like you’re booked for an amusing evening. Even the chauffeur’s a good-looking character.”

      * * * * * * *

      Their taxi pulled up outside the Regency house just behind Park Lane at four-thirty.

      “It gives me masses of time,” Simone remarked as Craig saw her up the steps.

      Back on the pavement again, he noticed Burton Malone’s big dark limousine pulled up by the kerb with the chauffeur behind the wheel. Without pausing he drew out his cigarette case and fumbled for his lighter. Then he stopped and walked up to the waiting car.

      “Help me out with a light?” he asked pleasantly. “My lighter’s had it.”

      The man grunted something and struck a match.

      “Thanks,” said Craig and moved off.

      * * * * * * *

      Simone, up in a bedroom that was two shades of pink from top to bottom with white muslin hangings and thick white rugs on the polished parquet flooring, was being fussed over by Claire’s maid.

      “Miss Claire had a new white dress for tonight. It is wonderful. And it will suit you a treat.”

      “Poor Miss Malone. She probably hates the idea of me wearing her dress and going to the concert.”

      “Oh, no, Miss. She’d hate it a lot more if she thought Mr. Rozzani was going to worry.”

      Simone looked at herself in the mirror. “I think,” she murmured, “I ought always to have the opportunity of dressing in white crêpe.”

      The maid, her head on one side, raved:

      “Miss, it’s beautiful. It looks like it was made for you.”

      Apparently Claire Malone had been going to wear her hair on top of her head, and the maid dutifully went to work on Simone.

      “It’s funny,” the girl exclaimed when she had finished and Simone was clipping on the diamond earrings, “you do really look like Miss Claire.”

      “I hope Mr. Rozzani will think so too.”

      Simone caught up the fur cape lying on the bed. “Now for it.”

      “Good luck, Miss. You do look lovely—and I do hope you have a beautiful evening. Mr. Rozzani plays ever so nice, I’ve heard.”

      Going down the stairs Simone wished privately that Craig was going to be there too.

      The waiting chauffeur touched his cap and held the door open for her. So he hadn’t noticed that she was not Miss Claire Malone. Simone mentally patted herself on the back at her initial success.

      He slammed the door quickly. So quickly, in fact, that she was flung back into the corner as the car lurched forward with a purr of its muted engine.

      It was then she realized with a cold little shock that she was not alone.

      The man beside her said softly:

      “Good evening, Miss Malone.”

      “Who are you?”

      She tried to get a better look at him in the gloom. His overcoat collar was turned up to his ears and his slouch hat pulled down well over his face. All she could see of his features were his glittering eyes and the curve of a lean cheek, the rest was lost in shadow.

      “Who are you?” she asked again, panic rising, but telling herself not to be a fool at the same time.

      He reached out a gloved hand and took her arm in a grip that hurt.

      “Take

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