She didn’t say anything nor look at me, but drove on, and, looking back, I saw the gate swing to. I wondered suddenly if I was being kidnapped the way Nurse Gurney had been kidnapped. Maybe the whisky I had swallowed was taking a hold, for I really didn’t care. I felt it would be nice to have a little sleep. The clock on the dashboard showed two minutes to midnight: my bed-time.
Then suddenly the track began to broaden out into a carriage way, and we slip through another twelve-foot gate, standing open, and again looking back, I saw it swing to behind us as if closed by an invisible hand.
Into the glare of the headlights appeared a chalet-styled wooden house, screened by flowering shrubs and Tung blossom trees. Lights showed through the windows of the ground floor. An electric lantern shed a bright light on the steps leading to the front door. She pulled up, opened the car door and slid out. I got out more slowly. A terraced garden built into the cliff spread out before me in the moonlight. At the bottom, and it looked a long way down, I could see a big swimming-pool. The sea provided a soft background of sound and glittered in the far distance. The scent of flowers hung in the hot night air in overpowering profusion.
“Is all this yours?” I asked.
She was standing by my side. The top of her sleek dark hair was in line with my shoulder.
“Yes.” After a pause, she said, “I’m sorry about the gun, but I had to get you here quickly.”
“I would have come without the gun.”
“But not before you had answered the telephone. It was very important for you not to answer it.”
“Look, I have a headache and I’m tired. I’ve been kicked in the throat, and although I’m tough, I have still been kicked in the throat. All I ask is for you not to be mysterious. Will you tell me why you have brought me here. Why it was important I shouldn’t answer the telephone and what you want with me?”
“Of course. Shall we go in? I’ll get you a drink.”