As the door shut, the tramp collapsed like a deflated balloon. He rolled himself to and fro on the bed muttering, “Gor’, blimey. Couldn’t have believed it. It’s a knock-out. A fair knock-out.” But Mark had little leisure to attend to this. He found that the stranger was addressing him, and though he could not understand the words, he looked up. Instantly he wished to look away again and found that he could not. He might have claimed with some reason that he was by now an expert in the endurance of alarming faces. But that did not alter the fact that when he looked on this he felt himself afraid.

Almost before he had time to realise this he felt himself drowsy. A moment later he fell into his chair and slept.

III

“Well?” said Frost, as soon as they found themselves outside the door.

“It is . . . er . . . profoundly perplexing,” said the Deputy Director.

They walked down the passage conversing in low tones as they went.

“It certainly looked-I say looked,” continued Frost “as if the man in the bed were being hypnotised and the Basque priest were in charge of the situation.”

“Oh, surely, my dear friend, that would be a most disquieting hypothesis.”

“Excuse me. I have made no hypothesis. I am describing how it looked.”

“And how, on your hypothesis-forgive me, but that is what it is-would a Basque priest come to invent the story that our guest was Merlinus Ambrosius?”

“That is the point. If the man in the bed is not Merlinus, then someone else, and someone quite outside our calculations, namely the priest, knows our whole plan of campaign.”

“And that, my dear friend, is why the retention of both these persons and a certain extreme delicacy in our attitude to both is required-at least until we have some further light.”

“They must, of course, be detained.”

“I would hardly say detained. It has implications. I do not venture to express any doubts at present as to the identity of our distinguished guest. There is no question of detention. On the contrary, the most cordial welcome, the most meticulous courtesy . . .”

“Do I understand that you had always pictured Merlinus entering the Institute as a Dictator rather than a colleague?”

“As to that,” said Wither, “my conception of the personal, or even official, relations between us had always been elastic and ready for all necessary adaptations. It would be a very real grief to me if I thought you were allowing any misplaced sense of your own dignity . . . ah, in short, provided he is Merlinus . . . you understand me?”

“Where are you taking us at the moment?”

“To my own apartments. If you remember, the request was that we should provide our guest with some clothes.”

“There was no request. We were ordered.” To this the Deputy Director made no reply. When both men were in his bedroom and the door was shut, Frost said, “I am not satisfied. You do not seem to realise the dangers of the situation. We must take into account the possibility that the man is not Merlinus. And if he is not Merlinus, then the priest knows things he ought not to know. To allow an impostor and a spy to remain at large in the Institute is out of the question. We must find out at once where that priest gets his knowledge from. And where did you get the priest from?”

“I think that is the kind of shirt which would be most suitable,” said Wither, laying it on the bed. “The suits are in here. The . . . ah . . . clerical personage said he had come in answer to our advertisement. I wish to do full justice to the point of view you have expressed, my dear Frost. On the other hand, to reject the real Merlinus . . . to alienate a power which is an integral factor in our plan . . . would be at least equally dangerous. It is not even certain that the priest would in any event be an enemy. He may have made independent contact with the Macrobes. He may be a potential ally.”

“Did you think he looked like it? His priesthood is against him.”

“All that we now want,” said Wither, “is a collar and tie. Forgive me for saying that I have never been able to share your root and branch attitude to religion; I am not speaking of dogmatic Christianity in its primitive form. But within religious circles-ecclesiastical circles-types of spirituality of very real value do from time to time arise. When they do they sometimes reveal great energy. Father Doyle, though. not very talented, is one of our soundest colleagues: and Mr. Straik has in him the germs of that total allegiancc (objectivity is, I believe, the term you prefer) which is so rare. It doesn’t do to be in any way narrow.”

“What do you actually propose to do?”

“We will, of course, consult the Head at once. I use that term, you understand, purely for convenience.”

“But how can you? Have you forgotten. that this is the night of the inaugural banquet, and that Jules is coming down? He may be here in an hour. You will be dancing attendance on him till midnight.”

For a moment Wither’s face remained still, the mouth wide open. He had indeed forgotten that the puppet Director, the dupe of the Institute by whom it duped the public, was coming that night. But the realisation that he had forgotten troubled him more than it would have troubled another-. It was like the first cold breath of winter-the first little hint of a crack in that great secondary self or mental machine which he had built up to carry on the business of living while he, the real Wither, floated far away on the indeterminate frontiers of ghosthood.

“God bless my soul!” he said.

“You have therefore to consider at once,” said Frost, “what to do with these two men this very evening. It is out of the question that they should attend the banquet. It would be madness to leave them to their own devices.”

“Which reminds me that we have already left them alone-and with Studdock, too-for over ten minutes. We must go back with the clothes at once.”

“And without a plan?” enquired Frost, though following Wither out of the room as he said it.

“We must be guided by circumstances,” said Wither. They were greeted on their return by a babble of imploring Latin from the man in the cassock. “Let me go,” he said; “I entreat you do not, for-your mothers’ sakes, do violence to a poor harmless old man. I will tell nothing-God forgive me-but I cannot stay here. This man who says he is Merlinus come back from the dead-he is a diabolist, a worker of infernal miracles. Look! Look what he did to the poor young man the moment you had left the room.” He pointed to where Mark lay unconscious in his chair. “He did it with his eye, only by looking at him. The evil eye, the evil eye.”

“Silence!” said Frost in the same language, “and listen. If you do what you are told, no harm will come to you. If you do not, you will be destroyed. I think that if you are troublesome you may lose your soul as well as your life; for you do not sound likely to be a martyr.”

The man whimpered, covering his face with his hands. Suddenly, not as if he wished to but as if he were a machine that had been worked, Frost kicked him. “Get on,” he said. “Tell him we have brought such clothes as men wear now.” The man did not stagger when he was kicked.

The end of it was that the tramp was washed and dressed. When this had been done, the man in the cassock said, “He is saying that he must now be taken for a journey through all your house and shown the secrets.”

“Tell him,” said Wither, “that it will be a very great pleasure and privilege”

But here the tramp spoke again. “He says,” translated the big man, “first that he must see the Head and the beasts and the criminals who are being tormented. Secondly, that he will go with one of you alone. With you, sir,” and here he turned to Wither.

“I will allow no such arrangement,” said Frost in English.