“Peter, I haven’t an idea what you’re talking about.”

“All the better. Don’t worry. I won’t behave like this another time. ‘The Duke drained a dipper of brandy-and-water and became again the perfect English gentleman.’ Give me your hand.”

She gave it to him, and he held it for a moment in a firm clasp, and then drew her arm through his. They moved on into the New Quad, arm in arm, in silence. As they passed the archway at the foot of the Hall stairs, Harriet fancied she heard somebody stir in the darkness and saw the faint glimmer of a watching face; but it was gone before she could draw Peter’s attention to it. Padgett unlocked the gate for them; Wimsey, stepping preoccupied over the threshold, tossed him a heedless goodnight.

“Good-night, Major Wimsey, sir!”

“Hullo!” Peter brought back the foot that was already in St. Cross Road, and looked closely into the porter’s smiling face.

“My God, yes! Stop a minute. Don’t tell me. Caudry-1918-I’ve got it! Padgett’s the name. Corporal Padgett.”

“Quite right, sir.”

“Well, well, well. I’m damned glad to see you. Looking dashed fit, too. How are you keeping?”

“Fine, thank you, sir.” Padgett’s large and hairy paw closed warmly over Peter’s long fingers. “I says to my wife, when I ’eard you was ’ere, ‘I’ll lay you anything you like,’ I says, ‘the Major won’t have forgotten.’”

“By Jove, no. Fancy finding you here! Last time I saw you, I was being carried away on a stretcher.”

“That’s right, sir. I ’ad the pleasure of ’elping to dig you out.”

“I know you did. I’m glad to see you now, but I was a dashed sight gladder to see you then.”

“Yes, sir. Gorblimey, sir-well, there! We thought you was gone that time. I says to Hackett-remember little Hackett, sir?”

“the little red-headed blighter? Yes, of course. What’s become of him?”

“Driving a lorry over at Reading, sir, married and three kids. I says to Hackett, ‘Lor’ lumme!’ I says, ‘there’s old Winderpane gawn’-excuse me, sir-and he says, ‘ ’Ell! wot ruddy luck!’ So I says, ‘Don’t stand there grizzlin’-maybe ’e ain’t gawn after all.’ So we-”

“No,” said Wimsey. “I fancy I was more frightened than hurt. Unpleasant sensation, being buried alive.”

“Well, sir! W’en we finds yer there at the bottom o’ that there old Boche dug-out with a big beam acrost yer, I says to Hackett, ‘Well,’ I says,‘ ’e’s all ’ere, anyhow.’ And he says, ‘Thank gawd for Jerry!’ ’e says-meanin’, if it ’adn’t been for that there dugout-”

“Yes,” said Wimsey, “I had a bit of luck there. We lost poor Mr. Danbury, though.”

“Yes, sir. Bad thing, that was. A nice young gentleman. Ever see anything of Captain Sidgwick nowadays, sir?”

“Oh, yes. I saw him only the other day at the Bellona Club. He’s not very fit these days, I’m sorry to say. Got a dose of gas, you know. Lungs groggy.”

“Sorry to hear that, sir. Remember how put about ’e was over that there pig-”

“Hush, Padgett. The less said about that pig, the better.”

“Yes, sir. Nice bit o’ crackling that pig ’ad on ’im. Coo!” Padgett smacked reminiscent lips. “You ’eard wot ’appened to Sergeant-Major Toop?”

“Toop? No-I’ve quite lost sight of him. Nothing unpleasant, I hope. Best sergeant-major I ever had.”

“Ah, he was a one.” Padgett’s grin widened. “Well, sir, ’e found ’is match all right. Little bit of a thing-no ’igher than that, but, lummy!”

“Go on, Padgett. You don’t say so.”

“Yes, sir. When I was workin’ in the camel ’ouse at the Zoo-”

“Good God, Padgett!”

“Yes, sir-I see them there and we passed the time o’ day. Went round to look ’em up afterwards. Well, there! She give ’im sergeant-major all right. Put ’im through the ’oop proper. You know the old song: Naggin’ at a feller as is six foot three-”

“And her only four foot two! Well, well! How are the mighty fallen! By the bye, I’ll tell you who I ran into the other day-now, this will surprise you-”

The stream of reminiscence ran remorselessly on, till Wimsey, suddenly reminded of his manners, apologized to Harriet and plunged hastily out, with a promise to return for another chat over old times. Padgett, still beaming, swung the heavy gate to, and locked it.

“Ah!” said Padgett, “he ain’t changed much, the major ’asn’t. He was a lot younger then, o’ course-only just gazetted-but he was regular good officer for all that-and a terror for eye-wash. And shavin’-lummy!”

Padgett, supporting himself with one hand against the brickwork of the lodge, appeared lost in the long ago.

“‘Now, men,’ ’e’d say, when we was expectin’ a bit of a strafe, ‘if you gotter face your Maker, fer gawd’s sake, face ’Im with a clean chin.’ Ah! Winderpane, we called ’im, along of the eyeglass, but meanin’ no disrespect. None on us wouldn’t ’ear a word agin ’im. Now, there was a chap came to us from another unit-’ulkin’ foul-mouthed fellow, wot nobody took to much-’Uggins, that was the name, ’Uggins. Well, this bloke thinks ’e’s goin’ to be funny, see-and ’e starts callin’ the major Little Percy, and usin opprobrious epithets-”

Here Padgett paused, to select an epithet fit for a lady’s ear, but, failing, repeated:

“Opprobrious epithets, miss. And I says to ’im-mind you, this was afore I got my stripes; I was jest a private then, same as ’Uggins-I says to ’im, ‘Now, that’s quite enough o’ that.’ And ’e says to me-Well, anyway, the end of it is, we ’ad a lovely scrap, all round the ’ouses.”

“Dear me,” said Harriet.

“Yes, miss. We was in rest at the time, and next morning, when the sergeant-major falls us in for parade-coo, lummy! we was a pair o’ family portraits. The sergeant-major-Sergeant-Major Toop, that was, ’im wot got married like I was sayin’-’e didn’t say nothin’-’e knew. And the adjutant, ’e knew too, and ’e didn’t say nothin’ neither. And blest if, in the middle of it all we don’t see the Major comin’ strollin’ out. So the adjutant forms us up into line, and I stands there at attention, ’oping as ’Uggins’s face looked worse nor what mine did. ‘Mornin’,’ says the Major; and the adjutant and Sergeant Major Toop says, ‘Morning, sir.’ So ’e starts to chat casual-like to the sergeant-major, and I see ’is eye goin’ up and down the line. ‘Sergeant-major!’ says he, all of a sudden. ‘Sir!’ says the sergeant-major. ‘What’s that man there been doin’ to ’imself?’ says ’e, meanin’ me. ‘Sir?’ says the sergeant-major, starin’ at me like ‘e was surprised to see me. ‘Looks as if he’d had a nasty accident,’ says the Major. ‘And what about that other fellow? Don’t like to see that sort of thing. Not smart. Fall ’ em out.’ So the sergeant-major falls us both out. ‘H’m,’ says the Major, ‘I see. What’s this man’s name?’ ‘Padgett, sir,’ says the sergeant-major. ‘Oh,’ says he. ‘Well, Padgett, what have you been doing to get yourself into a mess like that?’ ‘Fell over a bucket, sir,’ says I, starin’ ’ard over ’is shoulder with the only eye I could see out of, ‘Bucket?’ says ’e, ‘very awkward things, buckets. And this other man-I suppose he trod on the mop, eh, sergeant-major?’ ‘Major wants to know if you trod on the mop,’ says Sergeant-Major Toop. ‘Yessir,’ says ’Uggins, talkin’ like ’is mouth ’urt ’im. ‘Well,’ says the Major, ‘when you’ve got this lot dismissed, give these two men a bucket and a mop apiece and put ’em on fatigue. That’ll learn ’em to ’andle these dangerous implements.’ ‘Yessir,’ says Sergeant-Major Toop. ‘Carry on,’ says the Major. So we carries on. ’Uggins says to me arterwards, ‘D’you think ’e knew?’ ‘Knew?’ says I, ‘course ’e knew. Ain’t much ’e don’t know.’ Arter that, ’Uggins kep’ ’is epithets to ’isself.”

Harriet expressed due appreciation of this anecdote, which was delivered with a great deal of gusto, and took leave of Padgett. For some reason, this affair of a mop and a bucket seemed to have made Padgett Peter’s slave for life. Men were very odd.

There was nobody under the Hall arches as she returned, but as she passed the West end of the Chapel, she thought she saw something dark pass like a shadow into the Fellows’ Garden. She followed it. Her eyes were growing accustomed to the dimness of the summer night and she could see the figure walking swiftly up and down, up and down, and hear the rustle of its long skirt upon the grass.