“Dull part of the world this,” he remarked.  “By the way, what about that malaria of yours?”

“What about it?” I observed shortly.

“Comes and goes rather suddenly, doesn’t it?”

“Very,” I agreed.  “It’s one of the suddenest diseases ever invented.”

“‘Invented’ is a good word,” said Toby.  “You’re a bit of an inventor, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?  Are you venturing to imply—­”

“I imply nothing.  I merely state that this morning Suzanne came down to breakfast in her travelling-clothes.  And that wasn’t all.”

“Wasn’t it?” I inquired weakly.  “Tell me the worst.”

“All through breakfast,” continued Toby with relish, “she was restless and off her feed, and appeared to be listening for something.  Afterwards nothing could induce her to leave the house, and I myself caught her surreptitiously studying the time-table.  Every time a step was heard coming up the drive she started to her feet.  At last a telegraph-boy arrived.  Before anybody could discover whom the wire was addressed to, Suzanne snatched it from the boy, tore it open, placed her hand in the region of her heart and exclaimed, ‘Oh, how provoking!  Poor Percival’s—­’ then she turned it the right way up, looked unutterably foolish and meekly handed it over to Aunt Lucy.  It was from the old lady’s stockbroker and referred to some transaction or other in Housing Bonds.”

“And what did Aunt Lucy say?” I asked.

“Oh, she just looked the least little bit surprised,” replied Toby, “but she didn’t utter.  Suzanne had to embrace the muddiest of all the cocker pups to hide her flaming cheeks.”

“Well, what happened then?”

“Then?  Oh, then the telegraph-boy fished out another wire from his wallet.  I took it, glanced at the envelope and handed it to Suzanne.  This time she read it very gingerly before exclaiming in a highly unemotional voice:  ’Oh, how provoking!  Poor Percival’s got one of his sudden attacks of malaria and can’t come.  So, if you don’t mind, Aunt Lucy, I’ll catch the eleven-fifteen back.’  Aunt Lucy was very sympathetic and went up to help her with her packing, which was accomplished in a surprisingly short time; as a matter of fact she had practically done it all before breakfast.  Just as she was going to drive off to the station up came another telegraph-boy.  That was your second wire, and Suzanne didn’t seem any too pleased to receive it.  I’m not at all convinced,” concluded Toby, “that your wife would make her fortune on the stage.”

“Do you think Aunt Lucy suspects?” I asked.

“Bless you, no.  The dear old thing has the heart of a child.”

Maybe, but I have my doubts.  Suzanne’s aunt insisted on my staying a week as a preventive against a nervous breakdown, and the tonic with which she herself dosed me several times a day was the most repulsive beverage I had ever tasted, effectually ruining the savour of figs and mulberries.  Can it be that Aunt Lucy is not only of a suspicious but also of a revengeful nature?