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Copyright © 2009, 1993, 1988, 1986 New Age International (P) Ltd., Publishers
Published by New Age International (P) Ltd., Publishers
4.5 Lattices 83
4.6 Lattices as Partially Ordered Sets 84
4.7 Principle of Duality 86
Problem 4.2 91
4.8 Lattices as Algebraic Systems 92
4.9 Lattice and Order 93
4.10 Sublattices 94
4.11 Direct Product of Two Lattices 95
4.12 Isomorphic Lattices 97
Problem 4.3 100
4.13 Complete Lattice 101
4.14 Complemented Lattices 102
4.15 Distributive Lattice 104
4.16 Modular Lattices 108
Problem 4.4 111
6. Matrices 140–183
6.1 Revision 140
6.2 Diagonal, Scalar, Unit and Triangular Matrix 141
6.3 Equal Matrices 142
6.4 The Transpose of Matrix: Symmetric and Skew Symmetric Matrix 143
6.5 Algebra of Matrices 144
6.6 Properties of Addition of Matrices 145
6.7 Scalar Multiples of Matrices 146
6.8 Multiplication of Matrices 146
Problem 6.1 149
6.9 Inverse of a Matrix 151
Problem 5.2 152
6.10 Geometric Transformation 153
6.11 Geometric Properties of Plane Linear Transformation 154
(x) CONTENTS
p ∼p
T F
F T
PROBLEM 1.1
1. Which of the following are propositions ?
(a) A cow has four legs.
(b) Do not stand on the flowers.
(c) There is no greatest prime number.
(d ) 6 > 341.
(e) As white as a sheet.
(f ) It will rain somewhere in Delhi on July 23rd, 1984.
(g) Is that a reasonable argument ?
(h) If 2 + 2 = 5 then ice-cream is yellow.
2. Write the negation of the following proposition:
(a) All students are industrious.
(b) One side of Mercury always faces the sun.
(c) I like eating plums and I like drinking lemonade.
(d) A power of 2 never ends in a 7.
(e) Either the sun will be shining or I shall carry my umbrella.
1.5 DISJUNCTION
Any two propositions can be combined by the connective ‘or’ to form a new proposition which is
called disjunction of the original propositions.
Definition 1.5.1. Let p and q be two propositions. We define the disjunction of p and q to be the
proposition.
either p or q or both
and we write p - q. Quite often the words either and ‘or both’ ore omitted and we say that p - q
is the proposition ‘p or q’. Here it is customary to interpret the use of the word ‘or’ in the inclusive
sense. Thus p - q is true if p is true or q is true or p and q both are true or we can phrase it that
the proposition p - q is false if and only if the propositions p, q are both false. The proposition p
- q is completely specified by its truth table as follows:
p q p-q
T T T
T F T
F T T
F F F
4 DISCRETE MATHEMATICS
T T F
T F T
F T T
F F F
1.6 CONJUNCTION
We can obtain a new proposition from two given propositions p, q by using connective ‘and’.
Definition 1.6.1. Given two propositions p, q we define the conjunction of p and q to be the
proposition
p and q
and we write it p . q.
For example—
p : This child is a boy.
q : This child is intelligent.
p . q : This child is a boy and intelligent.
p . q : Is true, if the child is a boy and intelligent both.
MATHEMATICAL LOGIC 5
Even if one of the component is false, p . q is false. Thus the proposition p . q is true if and
only if the propositions p and q are both true. The truth table of p . q is as follows:
p q p.q
T T T
T F F
F T F
F F F
Example 1.6.1
p : Mathematicians are lazy.
q : Tennis racquets are expensive.
p . q : Mathematicians are lazy and Tennis racquets are expensive.
PROBLEM 1.2
Let the propositions p, q, r and s be given by
p : The sun is a star.
q : Jupiter is a planet.
r : Mumbai is a Capital of India.
s : Protein is necessary for life.
1. State truth values of p - q, p - r, p - s, q - r, q - s, r - s,
2. State truth values of p . q, p . r, p . s, q . r, q . s, r . s
Note: A compound statement is also a proposition. It is not necessary that a proposition has only two
proposition and only one kind of connective. A proposition may have many component propositions
and many connectives joining them.
If there are two propositions, then the truth table will have four rows. If there are three propositions,
there would be eight rows, with four propositions there would be 16 rows and so on. The combination
of truth values of two and three propositions are given by the following Tree diagram:
p q combination of p and q.
T T T
T
F T F
T F T
F
F F F
p qr combination of p, q and
T T T T
T
F T T F
T
T T F T
F
F T F F
6 DISCRETE MATHEMATICS
T F T T
T
F F T F
F
T F F T
F
F F F F
p ∼p p - ∼p
T F T
F T T
and
p q ∼p q-p ∼p - (q - p)
T T F T T
T F F T T
F T T T T
F F T F T
The final columns of the truth-table for both sentences containing nothing but T’s, and they are
thus true under all conditions—no circumstance whatever will render them false. These type of
propositions are called a tautology and T stands for tautology. So p - ∼p = T and ∼p - (q - p) = T.
Definition 1.7.1. A proposition, such as above, which is always true, no matter what truth values are
assigned to its component proposition is called a tautology.
Let us consider the truth table for the propositions p . ∼p and p . q . ∼ (p - q).
p ∼p p . ∼p
T F F
F T F
p q p .q p -q ∼ (p - q) p . q . ~ (p - q)
T T T T F F
T F F T F F
F T F T F F
F F F F T F
MATHEMATICAL LOGIC 7
It follows from the final columns of the truth tables of the propositions that the proposition have
all truth values F’s. These type of propositions are called contradictions. F stands for contradiction.
Hence p . ∼p = F and p . q . ∼(p - q) = F.
Definition 1.7.2. A proposition, such as above, which is always false, no matter what truth values
are assigned to its component propositions, is called a contradiction.
p q p.q ∼ (p . q) p q ∼ p ∼ q ∼ p-∼ q
T T T F T T F F F
T F F T T F F T T
F T F T F T T F T
F F F T F F T T T
Here the propositions ∼ (p . q) and ∼ p - ∼ q have identical truth values for all possible ways
of assigning truth values to the component propositions p, q. Hence
∼ (p . q) = ∼ p - ∼ q.
PROBLEM 1.3
1. Let p be the proposition ‘high speed driving is dangerous’ and q the proposition ‘Ram was a wise man’.
Write down the meaning of the following propositions:
(a) p . q
(b) ∼ p - q
(c) ∼ (p - q)
(d) (p . q) - (∼ q . ∼ q)
(e) (p - q) . ∼ (p . q)
2. Use the truth table technique to establish the following results, given that p, q, r are arbitrary propositions.
(a) p - (q - r) = (p - q) - r
(b) p - (p . q) = p
(c) p . (q - r) = (p . q) - (p . r)
(d) ∼ (p - q) = ∼ p . ∼ q.
3. Use the truth table technique to establish that the following propositions are tautologies:
(a) (p . q) - (p - ∼ q) - (∼ p . q) - (∼ p . ∼ q)
(b) {(p - ∼ q) . (∼ p . ∼ q} - q
(c) ∼ {p . (∼ p - q)} - q.
8 DISCRETE MATHEMATICS
The truth values in columns (5) and (7) are identical. Hence this proves the logical equivalence,
as desired.
MATHEMATICAL LOGIC 9
Proof: 3(a) p - (q . r) = (p - q) . (p . r)
We have truth tables for (p - q) . (p - r) and p - (q . r) as follows:
p q r q.r p - (q . r) p-q p- r (p - q) . (p - r)
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)
T T T T T T T T
T T F F T T T T
T F T F T T T T
T F F F T T T T
F T T T T T T T
F T F F F T F F
F F T F F F F F
F F F F F F F F
By comparison of the columns (5) and (8) in the table it follows that
p - (q . r) = (p - q) . (p - r).
Example 1.9.1. Show that
{p . (∼p - q)} - {q . ∼(p . q)} = q
Proof: L.H.S. = {p . (∼p - q)} - {q . ∼(p . q)}
= {(p . ∼p) - (p . q)} - {q . ( ∼p - ∼q)}
= F - (p . q) - (q . ∼p) - (q . ∼q)
= F - (p . q) - (q . ∼p) - F
= (p . q) - (q . ∼p)
= q . (p - ∼p)
= q . T = q = R.H.S.
Example 1.9.2. Show that
{(p - ∼q) . (∼p - ∼q)} - q = T
Proof: L.H.S. = {(p - ∼q) . (∼p - ∼q)} - q
= {(p - ∼q) . ∼p - (p - ∼q) . ∼q} - q
= {(p . ∼p) - (∼q . ∼p) - (p . ∼q) - (∼q . ∼q)} - q
= {F - (∼q . ∼p) - (p . ∼q) - ∼q} - q
= (∼q . ∼p) - (p . ∼q} - ∼q - q
= (∼q . ∼p) - (p . ∼q} - T
= T.
Hence,{(p - ∼q) . (∼p - ∼q)} - q is a tautology.
PROBLEM 1.4
1. Simplify
(a) (∼p . ∼q) - (∼p . ∼q . ∼r)
(b) ∼p . {∼q . (∼p - q)}
10 DISCRETE MATHEMATICS
p q p⇒q
T T T
T F F
F T T
F F T
Thus the conditional proposition p ⇒ q is false if and only if p is true and q is false. In all other
cases it is true.
Note: The proposition p ⇒ q does not mean that p causes q. The conditional proposition does not need
any logical connection between p and q except that whenever p is true, q is also true, and whenever p is false,
q is also false.
In this truth table, the first two rows are acceptable to most students but the same cannot be
said for the last two rows. The decision to assign the truth value T to the proposition p ⇒ q when
p is false irrespective of the truth value of the proposition p is reasonale.
The confusion is caused by the fact that, in everyday life, when a statement of the form. “If p
then q” is used the proposition p is usually true and the proposition p, q are normally related. It can
be seen by the following example.
Example 1.10.1
p! Two parallel lines are cut by a transversal.
q! The corresponding angles are equal.
p ⇒ q! If two parallel lines are cut by a transversal then the corresponding angles are equal.
Here p is true and p, q are related.
Mathematical logic however must cater for situation where either or both of these restrictions
do not apply.
Example 1.10.2
p : 3=8
q : 3+5=8
p ⇒ q : If “3 = 8” then “3 + 5 = 8”.
MATHEMATICAL LOGIC 11
Here, p ⇒ q is a true proposition because the inferred statement q is true in spite of the fact
that p is false. In fact there is no logical connection between p and q, i.e., q cannot be deduced from p.
Example 1.10.3
p : Dogs are bipeds.
q : Human beings are quadrupeds.
p ⇒ q : If “dogs are bipeds”, then “human beings are quadrupeds”.
Here p and q are false and it is evident that p and q logically unconnected but the conditional
proposition p ⇒ q is taken true in the mathematical logic.
It is possible to express a conditional as a disjunction, as
p ⇒ q = ∼p - q
which is shown below:
p q p⇒ q ∼p ∼p - q
T T T F T
T F F F F
F T T T T
F F T T T
We have
p q p⇒ q ∼p ∼q ∼q ⇒ ∼p
T T T F F T
T F F F T F
F T T T F T
F F T T T T
∴ p ⇒ q = ∼q ⇒ ∼p
i.e., Direct statement = Contrapositive.
Again, we have
p q q⇒ p ∼p ∼q ∼p ⇒ ∼ q
T T T F F T
T F T F T T
F T F T F F
F F T T T T
∴ q ⇒ p = ∼p ⇒ ∼q
i.e., Converse = Inverse.
Here we shall see that if p ⇒ q is true, then q ⇒ p and ∼p ⇒ ∼q may not be true.
Example 1.11.1
p : x2 = 4
q:|x |<4
Here, p ⇒ q : If x = 4, i.e., x = ± 2, then | x | < 4 is true.
2
The converse q ⇒ p will be “If | x | < 4, then x2 = 4”. This is false. Let x = 3 or x = –3,
then | x | < 4 but these values do not satisfy x2 = 4. Similarly, any value such that – 4 < x < 4 which
is not equal to 2 or – 2 will not satisfy x2 = 4. The inverse ∼p ⇒ ∼q will be “If x2 ≠ 4,
then | x | ≥ 4”. This is also false. Let x = 3 or x = – 3, then x2 ≠ 4 but these values do not satisfy
| x | ≥ 4.
Since, the columns (4), (7) and (9) are identical, therefore
∼ (p ⇒ q) = ∼ (∼p - q) = p . ∼ q.
p q p⇔ q
T T T
T F F
F T F
F F T
p q p⇔ q p⇒ q q⇒ p p⇒ q.q⇒ p
T T T T T T
T F F F T F
F T F T F F
F F T T T T
Since biconditional is a conjunction of the conditional and its converse, the biconditional is
worded in some alternative fashions:
p is equivalent to q
q is equivalent to p
If p then q, and if p then q
If p then q, and conversely
If q then p, and conversely
p is necessary and sufficient for q
q is necessary and sufficient for p
q if and only if p
Example 1.13.1. Show that p ⇔ q = (p . q) - (∼p . ∼q).
Since, p ⇔ q = (p ⇒ q) . (q ⇒ p)
= (∼p - q) . (∼q - p)
= (∼p . (∼q - p) - q . (∼q - p)
= (∼p . ∼q) - (∼p . p) - (q . ∼q) - (q . p)
= (∼p . ∼q) - F - F - (q . p)
= (∼p . ∼q) - (q . p)
= (q . p) - (∼p . ∼q)
14 DISCRETE MATHEMATICS
PROBLEM 1.5
1. Show that
(a) p ⇒ q = ∼q ⇒ ∼p
(b) (p ⇒ q) ⇒ r ≠ p ⇒ (q ⇒ r)
(c) (p ⇔ q) = (q ⇔ p)
(d) (p ⇔ q) ⇔ r = p ⇔ (q ⇔ r)
(e) [(p ⇒ q) . (q ⇒ r)] ⇒ (q ⇒ ≡ T (tautology).
2. What is the negation of:
(a) p ⇒ q.
(b) p ⇔ q?
3. Write each of the following statements in symbolic form:
(a) If the journey to and accommodation at Bombay are troublesome, I shall not go to Bombay.
(b) The Indian hockey team will win or lose at the new Olympic meet.
(c) If tomorrow is holiday then there will be no examination, but if an examination is held, it will
be in mathematics.
(d) The country will rise if and only if we work hard, sincerely and intelligently.
(e) If one is interested in acquiring good knowledge then it is a pleasure to study in a library if and
only if the library is well equipped with books and journals and the library atmosphere is good.
4. Determine the truth value of each of the following propositions.
(a) 3 + 5 = 8 iff 1 + 3 = 4
(b) 3 + 5 = 9 iff 1 + 3 = 7
(c) 3 + 5 = 8 iff 1 + 3 = 7
(d) 3 + 5 = 9 iff 1 + 3 = 4
5. Let p: Triangle ABC is equilateral,
q: Triangle ABC is equiangular.
Form the converse inverse and contrapositive of p ⇒ q.
6. Let p: ∆1 and ∆2 are similar.
q: ∆1 and ∆2 have corresponding angles equal.
Form the converse; inverse and contrapositive of p ⇒ q.
1.14 ARGUMENTS
An argument (denoted by the symbol d which is called a turnstile) is a sequence of propositions
that purport to imply another proposition. The sequence of propositions serving as evidence will be
called the premises, and the proposition inferred will be called the conclusion. An arguments is valid
if and only if, whenever the conjunction of the premises is true, the conclusion is also true. If we let
p1, p2, p3 be the premises and p4 the conclusion, then argument p1, p2, p3 d p4 will be valid if and,
only if whenever p1 . p2 . p3 is true, p4 is also. We can reduce this to the conditional ⇒ as follows:
Definition. 1.14.1. If p1, p2, ...., pn are premises and p is a conclusion, then the argument p1,
p2, ... pn d p is valid if and only if p1 . p2 . ... . pn ⇒ p is true for all combinations of truth values
of p1 ..., pn and p. In other words, to decide whether an argument is valid, use the conjunction of
evidences as the antecedent of conditional of which the conclusion of the argument is the consequent
and see whether or not a tautology results.
MATHEMATICAL LOGIC 15
T T F F T F T
T F F T F F T
F T T F T F T
F F T T T T T
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13
T T T T T T T F F F F F T
T T F T T T T F F T F F T
T F T F F F T T T T F F T
T F F F F T T T T T F F T
F T T T T T T F T F F F T
F T F T T T F F T T F F T
F F T F T F T F T T F F T
F F F F T F F T T T F F T
PROBLEM 1.6
1. Show that the following is invalid:
If I buy stocks, I will lose money. Therefore, if I lose money, I buy stocks.
Hint. Let
p : I buy stocks
q : I will lose money
the premises are q ⇒ q, and
the conclusion is q ⇒ p.
∴ the argument is p ⇒ q d – q ⇒ p.
We have
p q p⇒ q q⇒ p (p ⇒ q) ⇒ (q ⇒ p)
T T T T T
T F F T T
F T T F F
F F T T T
The first example by the rule method is read “N is the set of all x such that x is a natural
number”. Similarly the second is read “D is the set of all x such that x is a whole number between
1 and 10”.
If we represent the statement by P(x) which is satisfied by each element of the set, the set can
be indicated as
D = {x x satisfies P(x)}
and it is read “D is the set of all x such that x satisfies P(x)”.
PROBLEM 2.1
1. Indicate the elements of the following set by listing method:
(a) Set of all integers between 0 and 50, each of which has 3 as its last digit.
(b) Set of all positive integers less than 49 and divisible by 7.
(c) Set of all prime numbers between 1 and 30.
(d ) Set of all square roots of 25 that are even integers.
(e) Set of all positive integers which are common factor of 30 and 45.
(f ) Set of all square roots of the number 9.
(g) Set of even integers between –5 and 7.
2. Which of the following are examples of empty sets ?
(a) Set of all integers ending in 2 which are perfect squares.
(b) Set of all even integers endings in 7.
(c) Set of all integers whose square is 2.
(d) Set of all integral roots of the equation x3 – 5 = 0.
(e) Set of all living people who were born before 1950.
3. Below are given some sets. Express by using the ‘rule method’:
(a) Set of all foreigner who visited India in 2007.
(b) Set of all points in a plane.
(c) Set of all straight lines in a plane.
(d ) Set of all multiples of 5.
(e) Set of all integral divisors of 48.
(f ) Set of all common factors of 48 and 56.
(g) Set of all even integers.
(h) Set of all composite numbers.
4. Let n be an integer. Find the numbers in each of the following sets which correspond to the values
of n from – 4 to 4, inclusive:
(a) {x | x = 5n – 6}
(b) {x | x = 2n – 1}
(c) {x | x = 2n/3 – 1}
(d ) {x | x = 6 – 2n}.
SET THEORY 21
Proper inclusion is denoted by the symbol A ⊂ B which is read ‘‘A is a proper subset of B’’
or ‘‘A is properly contained in B’’, and also by the symbol B ⊃ A which is read ‘‘B includes A
properly’’.
If A is not a proper subset of B we symbolically write A ⊂| B or B ⊃| A.
Example 2.6.2. If A = {1, 2, 3, 4},
B = {1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7}
then we find that every element of A is an element of B but there are 5, 6 and 7 of B which do not
belong to A. In this case A is a proper subset of B(A ⊂ B).
Definition 2.6.3. Two set are identical if they have exactly the same elements in them.
If two sets A and B are identical we shall frequently call them as the same set, as equal sets
or as identical sets and we shall write A = B. If A and B are not equal we shall write A ≠ B.
THEOREM 2.6.1. If A ⊆ B and B ⊆ A, then A = B.
Proof. Since A ⊆ B, then by the definition of subset every element of A is an element of B,
that is, whenever x ∈ A, then x ∈ B. And every element of B is an element of A because B ⊆ A,
that is, whenever x ∈ B, then x ∈ A. This shows that the element in A and B are identical or A and
B have exactly the same elements.
Hence A = B.
Therefore in order to prove that A = B we must show that every element of A is an element
of B and every element of B is an element of A; we shall say that A = B if and only if A ⊆ B and
B ⊆ A.
Example 2.6.3. Let A = {x | 0 < x ≤ 15 and x is an odd integer}
and B = {y | 0 < y ≤ 16 and y is an odd integer}
then we find that
A = {1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11, 13, 15}
and B = {1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11, 13, 15}
Since the elements in A and B are exactly the same elements, by definition, A = B.
Now we shall study the statement of the definition of a subset. We observe that the statement
‘‘every element of A is an element of B’ means the same as “there are no elements in A which are
not in B”. When null set is involving in a discussion, then it may be more convincing to apply the
second statement.
Application of the definition also shows that a null set φ, that is, a set containing none of the
elements of the universe, is a subset of S, for there are no elements in φ, and therefore there are no
elements in φ, which are not in S. Hence φ ⊂ S.
By the same type of reasoning this null set φ is a subset of itself, and also a subset of every
other set taken from this universal set.
Example 2.6.4. Prove that A ⊆ A.
Proof. If x ∈ A, then x ∈ A, by the repetition of the statement therefore A ⊆ A by the definition
of a subset.
Example 2.6.5. If A ⊆ B, and B ⊆ C, then prove that A ⊆ C.
Proof. Let x ∈ A.
x ∈ A ⇒ x ∈ B since A ⊆ B
⇒ x ∈ C since B ⊆ C.
Hence A ⊆ C.
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dream. . . . Such as they are, I give them back to you. You gave
me the dream, and I broke it. But I’ve kept the pieces clean, and—
here they are.”
“I see no pieces, my sweet. You’ve given me back my dream.”
“In pieces, Richard. I broke it.”
“And now you’ve mended it, darling. You’ve given me back . . .
our dream.”
The old wonderful light flung into those peerless eyes. The old
exquisite smile came playing into her face.
“Oh, Richard,” she whispered, as though I had made her a
present she never had dared expect.
Then she closed her eyes, but the smile never left her face. And
presently, with my cheek against hers, she fell asleep.
And that is all, except that I am going to kill Berwick Perowne.
V
March 11th, 1929
‘The Office’ gave me two months’ leave—‘for the purpose of
attending to private affairs.’ That was on February 25th. Upon the
following day I disappeared: and forty-eight hours later I was in
touch with Perowne. He had no idea, of course. But I was in touch
. . . waiting. . . .
I found him at Barcelona, engaged on some Government job.
What the job was I don’t know, but it left him plenty of time—to
take two people about in his great big car. They were French, these
two, and pretty rich. The girl was young and handsome, with a
dangerously short upper lip and masses of fine red hair. When
Perowne took them out, she sat in front with him, her husband and
the chauffeur sitting behind. . . . The husband stuck it until five
days ago. Then they left for Valencia, they said, he and his wife . . .
going by road.
That night I took the lady’s name in vain.
I wired from Pampeluna—I had a big car, too—suggesting
Perowne should come. He came. I fancy his vanity was tickled. I
may be wrong. But I think he liked the idea of the husband
chuckling to think that he’d thrown him off the track, while the wife
was giving him the tip that they’d taken another road.
A maid at Pampeluna did the rest. At least, she gave him a
message, when all the rest of the staff denied the very existence of
the lady with the short upper lip and the masses of fine red hair.
The message bade Perowne take the north-east road. This leads
into the mountains and is but little travelled till April is old. He took
the road the next day, and he took it alone. His chauffeur had
supped with me the night before—holding a very short spoon. . . .
I saw him coming when he was miles away, driving like fury
along the elegant road that swept and curled and thrust like some
stately serpent up and up into bleak places, where, even beneath
the sunshine, spring seemed very distant and the monstrous
silence of the depths on either hand turned the trickle of running
water into the rush of a sluice.
When he was two miles off, I knocked out my pipe. Then I
adjusted my goggles and entered my car.
I drove slowly to meet him on one of the bends. The corner was
blind, but he cut it—I knew he would. He found me full in his path
on my proper side. He tried to get through, but I squeezed him and
crammed him into the ditch. . . .
I let him talk for a minute, while I moved on and turned my
wheels into a bank. Then I locked the switch and got out of the car.
As I came up he let out at me in French.
“How long have you been driving?”
I answered in English.
“Ten or twelve years,” I said.
“Had many accidents?”
“None. And you?”
He stared.
“Let me give you a tip,” he said. “When you’re driving a car,
don’t stick too close to your rights. It’s not much good to be able to
shout ‘You’re wrong’ when they’re pickin’ what’s left of the wind
screen out of your brain.”
“That’s a true enough saying,” said I, “and here’s another. If you
shout for trouble, don’t squeal when your prayer is heard,” and,
with that, I took out tobacco and started to fill a pipe.
For a moment he looked like thunder. Then he flung out a
laugh.
“I see you’re one of the Die-Hards. I confess I never drive with
a Bible under my arm. But there you are.” He rose and peered at
the ditch. “Another two inches of your precious slice of the way,
and I should have been all right.”
“Four,” said I, and pointed to a scar in the road. “That was your
safety crease. With a wheel on that, I knew you were bound to go.”
Perowne stared at the scar. It might have been cut with a
punch. As a matter of fact, it had. Presently he looked at me. I
pressed my tobacco home and stared at the sky.
Perowne got out of his car and looked at her tracks. Then he
picked up a stick and did some measuring. . . .
“You’re right,” said he. “Right to an eighth of an inch.”
“I know,” said I. “I measured your car last night.”
For a moment he never moved. Then he took out cigarettes,
lighted one carefully and leaned against the door with a foot on the
step.
“So I was wrong,” he said softly. “You do know how to drive.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Maybe,” said I, watching his right arm move. “I took your
pistol, too,” I added carelessly.
For a moment or two he almost lost control. Then he took a
deep breath.
“Well,” he sighed, “you’re thorough. I’ll give you that. And my
chauffeur? I suppose I owe his failure to the same virtue.”
“You do,” said I. “And the message.”
“Dear, dear,” said he. “Not the telegram, too?”
“The telegram, too,” said I.
“Well, I’m damned,” said he, crossing his legs. “You do work
hard, don’t you?” With half-closed eyes, he let the smoke make its
way out of his mouth. “Glorious view from here. . . . That why you
brought me?”
“In a way,” said I. “It’s quite a good place to—to see the sun go
down.”
Perowne shot me a glance.
“No doubt,” he said shortly. “But—I’m afraid I can’t wait so long.
And now tell me your game, and I’ll see if I care to play. Which is it
—blackmail or murder?”
“It’s not blackmail,” said I, and took off my goggles.
“Hullo,” said Perowne. “If it isn’t old What’s-his-name!”
The thrust was shrewd. Almost I lost my temper. To pretend
that she’d meant so little that her name was out of his mind. . . .
Instead—
“Some names sting the tongue,” I said quietly.
He lifted his head and looked at the cold blue sky.
“True,” he said. “And the brush of some lips the mouth.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” said I.
“Tell me,” he said, frowning. “Did she go back to you?”
“She did,” said I: “to die.”
“I thought she would,” said Perowne.
“Forgive me,” said I. “You thought she wouldn’t dare.” He
started. “You used her love for me to bind her feet. That’s how you
held her, you rotten loose-lipped thief. . . trading on her devotion to
another man. . . . And then at the last, poor lady, she called her
bully’s bluff, stared Blackmail out of countenance, and came back.”
The fellow’s face was livid: his eyes like swords. For a moment
he stood trembling, with fists clenched. Then he seemed to think
better of his valour and, clapping his hands behind him, threw
himself back with a jerk against the spare wheel.
“And now you’re out for blood?” he burst out presently.
I knocked out my pipe.
“Some years ago,” I said. “I was in Macedonia. Up in the
mountains, I remember, there was an old churchyard, quite full of
graves.” I looked about me. “The place was not unlike this. . . . And
every grave had been opened—to release the spirits of the dead. It
was a local superstition. Now, what do you think lived and grew fat.
. . . in that churchyard?”
There was a long silence.
At length I leaned forward.
“Snakes, Perowne, snakes. Snakes that traded on devotion . . .
turned piteous piety to their own ends . . . used women’s love for
their husbands to fill their bellies . . . battened upon the dead . . .
And you ask if I’m out for blood. What do you think?”
“Think?” said he. “Why, I think you’re very confident.”
“I confess it,” said I. “I’m a poacher to-day. But you should
watch your preserves.”
He stared at the edge of the road and into the depths beyond.
Then he tilted his chin and scanned the grandeur of Navarre—all
mountains and sudden valleys and again mountains like footstools
to mountains greater than they, so that the world seemed nothing
but a black sea of breakers foam-crested, petrified.
“You’re sore, of course,” he mused. “It’s a way relicts have. . . .
But why have you left it so long?”
“I thought she was happy,” I said. “It never occurred to me that
the man was born who could treat such a lady ill. But it seems you
struck her, Perowne.”
He cried out at that, but the blood was in my head and I
shouted him down.
“More,” I raved, “more. You jeered at her grief . . . . . . mocked
at her misery . . . twisted those delicate arms . . . cursed her for
weeping because it spoiled your sleep . . . bullied my dying girl . . .
My God! My God!” I bowed my head and covered my eyes with my
hands. “Don’t think she told me,” I muttered. “She never gave you
away. But——”
As I lifted my head, the spare wheel caught me full in the face.
I went down like a log, with the wheel on the top of me. I never
remember feeling so shaken up. I wasn’t exactly unconscious but
things were distorted—unreal.
I saw Perowne seize a kit-bag and drop it into the ditch. I saw
him slip into the car and I heard her start. I saw her begin to move
. . . lurch . . . pitch to and fro. I saw the pitches grow longer—more
pronounced. I began to get quite interested, wondering at every
failure whether he’ld get her out at the next attempt. All the time
his engine kept storming like an angry fiend. . . .
Suddenly my brain cleared, and I realized that he was like to be
gone and leave me sitting in the road with a wheel in my lap.
I heaved the wheel off my legs and leapt for the luggage-grid,
as the car shot back. Its off hind wheel went over the spare with a
couple of jerks that nearly threw me off. Then he clapped her into
first, bumped over the spare wheel again and flung up the pass all
out. . . .
Perhaps for the very first time in all his life Perowne had lost his
nerve. I thought he had, and the moment I saw him I knew. And
the knowledge did me more good than the wind in my face. The
man was not sitting: he was crouched—with his shoulders up to his
ears. His one idea was to get away from that spot. The silence,
perhaps. . . .
He never saw me climb up over the hood or settle myself on the
seat behind his back. But I did. As a matter of fact, I sat there a
minute or two—to get my breath and recover—before I put him
wise.
Strangely enough, my touch seemed to bring his confidence
back.
He gave one whoop. . . . Then he threw back his head and
laughed up into my eyes.
“You do work hard,” he said. “I thought you were done.”
The road was falling now for a long half-mile.
I stretched out a hand and switched his engine off.
He cursed me for that. Then he stamped on the clutch.
“I’ll take you to find her in hell,” he cried, and headed straight
for the brink.
I clapped my hands on his and wrenched the wheel about.
For a second I thought we were over. . . . Then the car swung
back to the crown of the road.
Again he swerved to the off, and I wrenched her back.
All the time the car was gathering speed.
I had the strength, but he had the position. We swayed and
swung and swerved all over the road, fighting and raving like
madmen to get the upper hand. Twice I went for the brake, but
each time, before I could reach it, I had to catch at the wheel. I
crushed his fingers, and he screamed and spat in my face.
We were doing fifty now, and a curve was coming. The man
wasn’t born that could take it without brakes. Perowne saw it, too,
and laughed.
“Behold our spring-board,” he said.
I seized his neck and jammed his face between the spokes of
the wheel.
“Now turn it,” said I.
Then I applied the brakes. . . .
When the car came to rest, I let him lift his head.
Then I put my hands under his chin and looked into his eyes.
“You’ll never see her,” I said. “She’s up in heaven.”
He smiled.
“With the rest of the demi-monde!”
I began to bend him back.
“Where there aren’t any bullies,” I said. “She had her hell upon
earth.”
“I devilish nearly won,” said he.
“You did,” said I. “But you made one bad mistake.”
“Why, what was that?” said he.
“You lost your nerve.”
He struggled at that, and I bent him back again.
“This won’t help her,” he blurted, panting.
“The more’s the pity,” said I. “But it’ll help me and it’ll make the
world cleaner.”
Again I bent him back, till his eyes were starting and his back
curved like a bow.
“For God’s sake, end it,” he whimpered.
“Ask in her name,” said I.
“For . . . her . . . sake.”
I broke his back.
Then I turned the wheels to the edge and started the engine
up. . . .
The car came to rest finally about six hundred feet below the
road—a battered blazing wreck.
For a moment I watched her burn, and, being human and very
much in love with my dead wife, felt better than I had felt for many
a month.
That was three days ago.
To-morrow morning I shall report for duty.
VI
September 5th, 1929
I came up from Bristol to-day.
Just as the train was starting, the door of my carriage was
opened, and a woman was hoisted in.
She stuck a glass in her eye and waved to her breathless squire.
“So long, Nosey,” she said. “ ’Fraid I’m out of bananas, but
here’s an onion’s heart.”
She blew him a kiss and flung herself back in her seat.
I knew her at once: and I began to wonder if she’ld remember
me. She did. After a little reflection she opened her mouth.
“Didn’t I meet you,” she said, “at the Meurices’?”
“That’s right,” said I. “You told my fortune from my hand.”
She looked at me sharply.
“I remember,” she said. “Did—did it ever come true?”
“Half of it did. You said I should meet a man who’ld have a
terrific influence on my life—indirectly, through somebody else.
Well, you were perfectly right.”
“That all?” she said, looking at me very hard.
“Yes,” I said. “That’s all that’s been fulfilled. So far as I know,
I’ve had no influence on him. And I assume I should know. Mine
was to be direct, if you remember.”
“And physical,” said Sarah Roach.
“And physical,” said I, “whatever that may mean. If it’s coming
off, it’ll have to come off quick. He’s over seventy-four, and the
papers say he’s ill.”
Miss Roach stared at me as if I was drunk.
“Seventy-four?” she snapped. “Who—what’s his name?”
“That I can’t tell you,” said I. “But he’s in Debrett. Why
shouldn’t he be seventy-four?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
She picked up her papers then, and we said no more.
As the train was running into Paddington—
“I don’t talk,” she said, “but I study women and men and put
two and two together rather as you do yourself. And when I’ve
done my addition I like turning up the answer to see if I’m right.”
“Well,” said I, wondering what was afoot.
“Well, I’ve done a sum,” she said, “and you’ve got the answer. If
I tell you my result, will you tell me whether it’s right?”
“It depends on the sum,” said I. “I don’t talk either, you know.”
“It’s nothing to do with your job. It’s a purely personal matter.”
“In that case I’ll say ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ ”
“Right,” said Sarah Roach, “and remember—I don’t talk. Did you
kill Berwick Perowne?”
“I had that pleasure,” said I. “But how did you know?”
She laughed.
“Simple addition,” she said. “Besides, I’m half a prophet.”
Which is all she’ll ever be, so far as I’m concerned. For I see
from this morning’s paper that Sir George —— is dead.
ATHALIA
ATHALIA
Seven days later Miss Choate confided to Fairfax that she had
heard from Judy.
“Not my twin-sister?” said Punch, with a daring display of
amazement.
“The same,” said Athalia. “Why shouldn’t I hear from her?”
“No reason at all,” said Punch, “except that she never writes.
I’ve had six letters from her since she was married—that’s seven
years ago. Mole says she’s a vegetarian—thinks it cruel to use ink,
but, speakin’ as one who’s known her all her life except the first
twenty minutes, I incline, as they say, to the view that she’s labour-
shy. What does she say?”
“Suggests that I come to Biarritz. By way of inducement she
adds: The bathing’s a treat, and it’s the first time you’ve been warm
since the War, and all that sort of wash.”
Mentally, Fairfax consigned Lady Defoe to a resort where the
warmth would be still more remarkable.
“Must be losing her mind,” he said shortly. “What ‘wash’?”
“Can’t conceive,” said Miss Choate innocently. “Never mind. The
point is, shall I go?”
“Why not?” said Punch. “It’s about the only place in Europe I
know where you can bathe in comfort without a fleece-lined wet-off
bathing-suit and a sealskin towel. I shouldn’t faint with surprise if I
rolled up there myself. I want to see Judy, and my leave starts on
the sixth.”
“I’m not sailing till the end of September,” said Athalia musingly,
“so I could put in a month. I must confess I’ld rather like to get
warm. When’s your Bank Holiday?”
“Sixth of août,” said Punch. “I should give that a miss.”
“If I went on the fourth . . .” She sighed. “At least, it’ll be a
change. After all, Life’s rather like a frock. If it’s to be a success,
you must see it from every angle. Besides, to tell you the truth, I
think it’ld be a good move—my suddenly leaving the stage. Nature
abhors a vacuum.”
Fairfax’ heart stood still.
After an awkward silence—
“Is—is he showing any signs of life?” he said uncertainly.
Athalia looked away.
“I—I think so,” she whispered.