It is perhaps fortunate that Alderley has one of the most elaborate burglar alarm systems in Britain. Otherwise, we feel the necklace might make an almost irresistible target for the notorious Wraith!'

'The Wraith?' Carrie Peabody said sharply. That's that society jewel thief, isn't it - the one who always leaves a calling card?'

'That's it. A drawing of a sheeted ghost. John figures we should deposit the necklace in the bank before we go to Alderley - just to be on the safe side. What do you think?'

Mrs. Peabody shook her head firmly. 'Oh no. Definitely not. I've never stayed with the English aristocracy before. Our hosts may have a title going back hundreds of years and a famous stately home full of art treasures and antiques. But they don't have a diamond necklace worth half a million bucks. I must have something to keep Uncle Sam's end up. I'm taking my necklace - and wearing it.'

Her husband chuckled. 'Good for you, Carrie. That's just what I figured you'd say. Something else our hosts lack, too, is a unique, personally-engraved Bergman Bayard 1910/21 semi-automatic pistol, custom-made as a gift for Tzar Nicholas II just before his assassination. I'm sure looking forward to seeing the Earl's face when I produce it.'

* * *

In the smoking-room of his club, Algernon Fotheringay was talking.

'Then, of course, next week I'm toddling off down to jolly old Alderley for a few days. You ever stayed at Alderley?'

His listener, the laziest member, and the only one who hadn't made a hasty withdrawal within moments of Algy's appearance, yawned and shook his head.

'Oh, it's an absolutely topping place. The Earl and Countess are ripping people. So's Gerry, their daughter. I met the Earl at Lord's the other day. He almost begged me to go down. They're having quite an exclusive party, and he said that it wouldn't be the same without me at all.'

'I'm sure that's true.'

'I had several other invitations outstanding, of course, including one to Cliveden. I was tempted, but when it came to making a decision, Alderley won. The grub there's ripping. The cook does a perfectly spiffing steak and kidney pie - and she's a dab hand at soufflés, too, don't you know. The only possible fly in the ointment is that a little bird tells me there are going to be a brace of foreigners there. Some Americans, too, but I don't bar Americans. No these are a couple of real foreigners.