Watchman started, and stared at Miss Darragh in confusion.

“Dear me, Mr. Watchman,” she said composedly, “what is the matter with you? Had you forgotten I was here?”

“I — it sounds very ungallant but I believe I had.”

“What brandy did you say, sir?” asked Abel, and when Watchman repeated mechanically, “Courvoisier ’87,” Abel said placidly that he believed he had three bottles in his own cellar.

“I picked ’em up when old Lawyer Payne over to Diddlestock died and was sold up,” said Abel. “Half-dozen thurr was, and squire split ’em with me. I think that’s the name. It’s twelve month or more since I looked at ’em.”

Watchman had already taken three glasses of Treble Extra and, although sober, was willing to be less so. Parish, suddenly flamboyant, offered to bet Abel a guinea that the brandy was not Courvoisier ’87, and on Abel shaking his head, said that if it was Courvoisier ’87, damn it, they’d kill a bottle of it there and then. Abel took a candle and went off to the cellar. The three men in the public tap-room went away. Will Pomeroy left the public bar and came to the private one. He had shown little interest in Watchman’s stories. Legge had gone into the inglenook where he remained reading a book on the Red Army in Northern China. Watchman embarked on a discussion with Cubitt on the subject of capital punishment. Soon it became a general argument with Decima, Cubitt, and Parish on one side; and Watchman, dubiously supported by Mr. Nark, on the other.

“It’s a scientific necessity,” said Mr. Nark. “The country has to be purged. Cast out your waste material is what I say, and so does Stalin.”

“So does Hitler if it comes to that,” said Cubitt. “You’re talking of massed slaughter, aren’t you?”

“You can slaughter in a righteous manner,” said Mr. Nark, “and you can slaughter in an unrighteous manner. It’s all a matter of evvylution. Survival of the fittest.”

“What on earth’s that to say to it?” asked Cubitt.

“We’re talking about capital punishment in this country, aren’t we?” Decima asked.

Throughout the discussion, though she had launched several remarks at Watchman, she had not spoken directly to him. In each instance Watchman had answered exactly as if the conversation was between those two alone. He now cut in quickly.

“I thought so,” said Watchman. “My learned friend is a little confused.”

“I regard it,” Decima continued, always to Cubitt, “as a confession of weakness.”

“I think it’s merely barbarous and horrible,” said Parish.

“Terrible,” murmured Miss Darragh drowsily. “Barbarous indeed! If we can’t stop men from killing each other by any better means than killing in return, then they’ll persist in it till their dying day.”

Cubitt, with some difficulty, stifled a laugh.

“Quite right, Miss Darragh,” he said. “It’s a concession to the savage in all of us.”

“Nonsense,” said Watchman. “It’s an economic necessity.”

“Ah,” said Mr. Nark with the air of one clutching at a straw. “Ah, now you’re talking.”

Abel came back with a bottle in his hands.

“There you are, gentlemen,” he said. “It’s Mr. Watchman’s brand and no doubt about it. See for yourself, sir.”

Watchman looked at the bottle.

“By God, you’re right, Abel.”

“This is magnificent,” cried Parish. “Come on. We’ll open it. Have you any brandy glasses? Never mind, tumblers’ll do. It’s a bit cold, but we’ll humour it.”

Abel opened the bottle.

“This,” said Watchman, “is my affair. Shut up, Seb; I insist, Abel, you and Will must join us.”

“Well, thank you very much, sir, I’m sure,” said Abel.

“I’m afraid,” said Decima, “that I really dislike brandy. It’d be wasted on me.”

“What will you have, then?”

“I’m sorry to be so tiresome but I’d really rather not have a drink.”

“My poor girl,” said Watchman.

“Dessy’ll have a stone-ginger with me,” said Will Pomeroy suddenly.

“With me,” said Watchman. “Eight brandies, two stone-gingers, Abel, and kill the bottle.”

“Good Lord, Luke,” expostulated Cubitt, “you’ll have us rolling.”

“None for me, thank you, Mr. Watchman,” said Miss Darragh. “I’m afraid that I, too, am a Philistine.”

“You’ll have a drink, though?”

“I shall join you,” said Miss Darragh, “in the nonalcoholic spirit.”

“Seven brandies, Abel,” amended Watchman. “The first half now, and the second hereafter.”

Abel poured out the brandy. They watched him in silence.

The rain still poured down, but the thunder sounded more distantly.

Watchman took the first tot to Legge and put it on a table at his elbow.

“I hope you’ll join us, Mr. Legge,” he said.

Legge looked at the brandy and then directly at Watchman.

“It’s very kind of you,” he said. “As a matter of fact I’ve some work to do, and—”

“ ‘Let other hours be set apart for business,’ ” quoted Watchman. “To-day is our pleasure to be drunk. Do you like good brandy, Mr. Legge?”

“This,” said Legge, “is the vintage of my choice.”

He took the glass and nursed it between those callused hands.

“An exquisite bouquet,” said Mr. Legge.

“I knew you’d appreciate it.”

“Your health,” said Legge, and took a delicate sip.

The others, with the exception of Mr. Nark, murmured self-consciously and sipped. Mr. Nark raised his glass.

“Your very good health, sir. Long life and happiness,” said Mr. Nark loudly, and emptied his glass, at one gulp. He drew in his breath with a formidable whistle, his eyes started from his head and he grabbed at the air.

“You’m dashed at it too ferocious, George,” said Abel.

Mr. Nark shuddered violently and fetched his breath.

“It’s a murderous strong tipple,” he whispered. “If you’ll pardon me, Mr. Watchman, I’ll break it down inwardly with a drop of water.”

But presently Mr. Nark began to smile and then to giggle and as he giggled so did Cubitt, Parish, and Watchman. By the time the first tot of Courvoisier ’87 had been consumed there was much laughter in the private bar, and a good deal of rather loud aimless conversation. Watchman proposed that they have a Round-the-Clock competition on the dart board.

Parish reminded him of Legge’s trick with the darts.

“Come on, Luke,” cried Parish. “If you let him try it on you, damme if I won’t let him try it on me.”

Mr. Legge was understood to say he was willing.

Watchman pulled the darts out of the board.

“Come on now,” he said. “I’m equal to the lot of you. Even Mr. Legge. Round-the-Clock it is, and if he beats me this time, we’ll have the other half and he can do his circus trick with my hand. Is it a bargain, Mr. Legge?”

“If you’re not afraid,” said Legge indistinctly, “I’m not. But I’d like a new set of darts.”

“Afraid? With a brandy like this on board, I’d face the Devil himself.”

“Good old Luke,” cried Parish.

Abel fished under the shelves and brought up a small package which he clapped down on the bar counter.

“Brand new set o’ darts, my sonnies,” said Abel. “Best to be bought, and come this evening from London. I’ll fix the flights in ’em while you play Round-the-Clock with the old ’uns. Bob Legge can christen ’em with this masterpiece of an exhibition.”

He broke the string and opened the package.

“Come now, Mr. Legge,” said Watchman. “Is it a bargain?”

“Certainly,” said Legge. “A bargain it is.”