Jenny raised one hand as though to shade her eyes. On her flushed face, with the short nose and the rather broad mouth, was an expression be could not read. Martin noticed, absently, that beyond her was a stand of armour — a Cavalier half-suit, much blackened, with lobster-tail helmet — and behind it on the wall, a picture depicting one of the loves of Aphrodite.
"Sir Henry Merrivale!" Jenny exclaimed. "You know him?"
"Slightly, yes. I went to him last week about tracing you. He said he'd help, but just for the moment he was too much engrossed in studying the subject of reincarnation."
"The subject of… what?"
"Reincarnation," explained Martin. "He thinks he may be the reincarnation of— Hold on! Wait! I've got it!"
For the rush of happiness at seeing Jenny, it seemed to him, had loosed a spell from his wits. He knew now why a certain cloudy reference should have been clear.
"Got what?" asked Jenny, with that eagerness he knew so well.
"Last night a barrister named Stannard mentioned a place in" Berkshire: Fleet House, I think it was. He said there'd been some ugly business, twenty years ago, which was either an accident or a supernatural murder. And that's it, of course!"
"How do you mean?"
"A friend of Sir Henry's, Chief Inspector Masters, has been pestering him to take up the case. Masters wants to re-open it. It seems there's new evidence, anonymous letters or the like." Martin stopped short. "What is it? What's wrong?"