‘My dear fellow,’ he was saying to Jimmy, “I’m sorry you think the new model insecticide fell a bit flat. But Randolph’s like that, you know: damned undemonstrative cove, I must say, though he’s my own brother.’

‘He wasn’t exactly undemonstrative,’ answered Jimmy, perplexity written on his face.

‘No, rather like an iceberg hitting you amidships,’ said his friend. ‘Doesn’t make a fuss, but you feel it all the same. But don’t you worry, Jimmy; I happen to know that he enjoyed your show. Fact is, he told me so.’ He gulped down some whisky.

‘I’m relieved,’ said Jimmy, and he obviously spoke the truth. ‘I’ve only one more whole day here, and I should be sorry if I’d hurt his feelings.’

‘Yes, and I’m afraid you’ll have to spend it with him alone,’ said Rollo, compunction colouring his voice. ‘I was coming to that. Fact is, Vera and I have unexpectedly got to go away to-morrow for the day.’ He paused; a footman entered and began walking uncertainly about the room. ‘Now, Jimmy,’ he went on, ‘be a good chap and stay on a couple of days more. You do keep us from the blues so. That’s all right, William, we don’t want anything,’ he remarked parenthetically to the footman’s retreating figure. ‘I haven’t mentioned it to Randolph, but he’d be absolutely charmed if you’d grace our humble dwelling a little longer. You needn’t tell anyone anything: just stay, and we shall be back the day after to-morrow. It’s hellish that we’ve got to go, but you know this bread-winning business: it’s the early bird that catches the worm. And talking of that, we have to depart at cock-crow. I may not see you again—that is, unless you stay, as I hope you will. Just send a wire to the old blighter who works with you and tell him to go to blazes.’

‘Well,’ said Jimmy, delighted by the prospect, ‘you certainly do tempt me.’

‘Then fall, my lad,’ said Rollo, catching him a heavy blow between the shoulder-blades. ‘I shan’t say good-bye, but “au revoir.” Don’t go to bed sober; have another drink.’

But Jimmy declined. The flickering candles lighted them across the hall and up the stone stairs.

And it’s lucky I have a candle, Jimmy thought, trying in vain the third and last switch, the one on the reading-lamp by the bed. The familiar room seemed to have changed, to be closing hungrily, with a vast black embrace, upon the nimbus of thin clear dusk that shone about the candle. He walked uneasily up and down, drew a curtain and let in a ray of moonlight. But the silver gleam crippled the candlelight without adding any radiance of its own, so he shut it out. This window must be closed, thought Jimmy, that opens on to the parapet, for I really couldn’t deal with a stray cat in this localized twilight. He opened instead a window that gave on to the sheer wall. Even after the ritual of tooth-cleaning he was still restless and dissatisfied, so after a turn or two he knelt by the bed and said his prayers—whether from devotion or superstition he couldn’t tell: he only knew that he wanted to say them.

‘Come in!’ he called next morning, in answer to the footman’s knock.

‘I can’t come in, sir,’ said a muffled voice. ‘The door’s locked.’

How on earth had that happened? Then Jimmy remembered. As a child he always locked the door because he didn’t like to be surprised saying his prayers. He must have done so last night, unconsciously. How queer! He felt full of self-congratulation—he didn’t know why. ‘And—oh, William!’ he called after the departing footman.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘The light’s fused, or something. It wouldn’t go on last night.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Jimmy addressed himself to the tea. But what was this? Another note from Mrs. Verdew!

Jimmy pondered Mrs. Verdew’s note, trying to read between its lines. One thing was clear: she had fallen in love with him. Jimmy smiled at the ceiling. She wanted to see him again, so soon, so soon! Jimmy smiled once more. She couldn’t bear to wait an unnecessary day. How urgent women were! He smiled more indulgently. And, also, how exacting. Here was this cock-and-bull story, all about Rollo’s ‘undertaking’ which would give him, Jimmy, the chance of a lifetime ! And because she was so impatient she expected him to believe it! Luncheon, indeed! Dinner! How could they meet for dinner, when Rollo was to be back at Verdew that same evening? In her haste she had not even troubled to make her date credible. And then: ‘I shall be furious if you don’t come.’ What an argument! What confidence in her own powers did not that sentence imply! Let her be furious, then, as furious as she liked.

Her voice, just outside his door, interrupted his meditation. ‘Only a moment, Rollo, it will only take me a moment!’ And Rollo’s reply, spoken in a tone as urgent as hers, but louder: ‘I tell you there isn’t time: we shall miss the train.’ He seemed to hustle her away downstairs, poor Vera. She had really been kind to Jimmy, in spite of her preposterous claims on his affection. He was glad he would see her again to-morrow. . . . Verdew was so much nicer than London. . . . He began to doze.

On the way back from the woods there was a small low church with a square tower and two bells—the lower one both cracked and flat. You could see up into the belfry through the slats in the windows. Close by the church ran a stream, choked with green scum except where the cattle went down to drink, and crossed by a simple bridge of logs set side by side. Jimmy liked to stand on the bridge and listen to the unmelodious chime. No one heeded it, no one came to church, and it had gone sour and out of tune. It gave Jimmy an exquisite, slightly morbid sense of dereliction and decay, which he liked to savour in solitude; but this afternoon a rustic had got there first.

‘Good-day,’ he said.

‘Good-day,’ said Jimmy.

‘You’re from the castle, I’m thinking?’ the countryman surmised.

‘Yes.’

‘And how do you find Mr. Verdew?’

‘Which Mr. Verdew?’

‘Why, the squire, of course.’

‘I think he’s pretty well,’ said Jimmy.

‘Ah, he may appear to be so,’ the labourer observed; ‘but them as has eyes to see and ears to hear, knows different.’

‘Isn’t he a good landlord?’ asked Jimmy.

‘Yes,’ said the old man. ‘He’s a tolerably good landlord. It isn’t that.’ He seemed to relish his mysteriousness.

‘You like Mr. Rollo Verdew better?’ suggested Jimmy.

‘I wouldn’t care to say that, sir. He’s a wild one, Mr. Rollo.’

‘Well, anyhow, Mr. Randolph Verdew isn’t wild.’

‘Don’t you be too sure, sir.’

‘I’ve never seen him so.’

‘There’s not many that have. And those that have—some won’t tell what they saw and some can’t.’

‘Why won’t they?’

‘Because it’s not their interest to.’

‘And why can’t the others?’

‘Because they’re dead.’