Release me. Now. Or I shoot." "You won't do it," said Mr. Wiggles, defiantly. "I haven't got a gun. I don't think I've got a gun. I must've left it back at the house. What? I'm sure I've got a gun. It must have fallen out of my pocket. Come on, give yourself up. This is no joke!" "Your last chance," said Wilma, pleadingly. "If you come out of this alive, and get into a plane tomorrow, you've got a free honeymoon. An expensive one. A one week honeymoon in Bermuda. So take it while you've got it." "Oh, all right, if it will stop your bleating. You can't trust a woman in these matters, but I don't mind telling you this: you were very attractive, even when you were in that dreadful disguise. I'm still a little peckish," he said. He turned round. "And I've got a gun." Chapter Twenty Four Mr. Wilmot, Wilma and Norman were sitting in the living room of the hotel, where they had lunched. After a hurried luncheon, Wilma had told them of what had occurred that morning in San Francisco, and of the subsequent decision to return to Bermuda. She had not mentioned Mr. Wiggles' proposal to commit suicide. "All that nonsense of the phone call being from him. I can't think why I believed him. I have to admit that I didn't really believe him. But that's all past. What I wonder now is if I would ever have taken him up on the offer if he hadn't made that last comment about me being still attractive." "You are attractive, Wilma, " said Mr. Wilmot. "But I'm afraid I must agree with Mr. Wiggles. I think the idea of suicide is a bit morbid." "I was a bit worried about you, too," said Norman. "I didn't like the idea of you being on your own." "You aren't really my son," said Mr. Wilmot. Norman's face turned red. "How could anyone be so cruel?" "Well, I must admit that I wouldn't have liked to be on my own either. And I wouldn't have liked to be on my own with you, love. Well, not you as an old woman." "Oh, don't get romantic, Norman, at a time like this. Well, Wilma. What next?" "I think we'll take the plane back tomorrow," she said. "I think we should leave tomorrow." Mr. Wilmot looked grave. "I think it's a very good idea," said Norman. "There's one thing I'd like to do. I would like to visit your Aunt Margaret." "Oh, yes. If you like." "No, don't put him off, Wilma," said Mr. Wilmot. "Norman. If you want to come with us, you can. It's up to you, you know." "It was nice to see you, Wilma," said Norman. "But I've got things to do in New York." Mr. Wilmot looked at Norman, and then shook his head. "I think not, son. I'm sorry." "Can't we at least send you a note?" "I don't think you'll want to say anything to him. Not in a note," said Wilma. "You might as well face it, Norman. It's not your fault." "But I do want to say something to you," said Norman. "I want to say that it was wonderful, Wilma. When you said yes to me." "Don't, Norman. We mustn't start talking about it. We don't know what the future holds." "I don't care about the future. At least I'll have you. I love you, Wilma. Always, I've loved you. And I love you now, I still love you." "Oh, Norman, don't. You know that I love you too. But this is much too fast. It's just a temporary romance." "Is that what it is? My grandmother's story. I must say I didn't expect this. Don't let's spoil everything and talk about it. This is only a dream. Just a dream." "You'll stay in touch," said Mr. Wilmot. "I don't want to stay in touch, I want to marry you, Wilma. Now, before it's too late." Mr. Wilmot looked annoyed. He glanced at Wilma. "But Wilma's going to marry my brother now," he said. "As I said before, this is a dream. Just a dream. That's all it is, I'm afraid. I'm sorry. I must go back to bed." Wilma looked at her watch. "It's time we went to bed, Norman. I'll stay up and fix up some sandwiches for you. We can eat them in bed. I'll make some coffee, too." Norman nodded. "I'm very hungry, Wilma," he said. "I'll try to get some sleep. Will you tuck me up?" "Of course." They walked along the beach together. At first Wilma walked in silence, and then she said, "I have been thinking about a lot of things. And wondering. Oh, how I want to get back to New York! This place is so gloomy. And the waves are rather ugly. And that gargoyle thing that wriggles up when you're walking along." "It's so gloomy here because of the gloom that prevails in your conscience," said Norman. "I shouldn't think there was much need to worry about it. As far as I can tell, the whole issue has been taken out of my hands, and deposited in the hands of a higher authority. And what's more, this higher authority seemed to have decided that I should be happy. I think I should feel blessed. Or at least, relieved, relieved." "Oh, Norman, please. Don't say those things. You know it's all been a bit confusing. But you can't expect to feel happy. But I think you'll be happy, Norman, if you'll only let go and forget everything. Forget about Wilma, forget about yourself, and forget about the world. Just go to sleep and dream of gargoyles, and you'll forget about everything, I promise you." "I wish I could believe you, Wilma. I really do." "You'll understand about Wilma in time. Not so far away. This is the dream of our life now, Norman. If you will only sleep and be at rest. But remember, Norman. Tomorrow will be different. In New York I think you'll begin to be happy." "I think I will." "Not just now, perhaps." Wilma said sadly. "We must think of now, and how good it has been. And how good it still might be." "It's only a dream. But a pretty nice dream," said Norman. "No. I want to see the gargoyles up close. I want to find out what they're doing. And the goblin. I must see what the gargoyle is doing. It makes me so hot." Norman pulled off his trousers and unbuttoned his shirt. He looked down at his bulging waistband, and then raised his left arm. He let the suspenders go, and it came off his back. He pushed his fingers into the button, which came away in his hand. Then he sat down on the sand, turned his head so he was facing