Bernard Cranshaw accepted the interruption as a matter of course.

“I couldn’t tell the police,” he said, frightened. “They would have found out about Mother. I couldn’t have had the police around here.”

He began to show signs of tension and excitement again, moving a heavy ash tray, which stood on a small, occasional table. He moved it backwards and forwards with a frantic energy, so that it scratched the table. Molly leant over and took the object from him. He subsided again into his chair, retreating from them.

“Tell me about the telescope,” George said quietly. “What kind of ‘scope was it? Did you recognize the make?”

“It was a new one,” the man said eagerly. “Not like mine. I always wanted a new one.” His face clouded over. “Mother said that it would have been a waste of money. But I would have looked after it.”

He stood up suddenly, shuffled to a cupboard in the corner, and lovingly brought out his telescope. It was solid brass and beautifully cared for.

“It was one of the new ones,” he repeated as he carried his telescope back to his chair. “One of the short ones, that you need a tripod for.”

“What colour was it?” George asked. “Was it with a tripod?”

The man shook his head.

“I can’t remember the colour. Grey or green. It was very messy. I was upset. I didn’t see a tripod.”

He seemed to lose all concentration then, and sat nursing the old brass telescope, rubbing patches of dull or tarnished metal with his handkerchief.

Molly waited with Bernard until the doctor came, but George left. Outside it was sticky and humid, and the storm clouds he had seen earlier in the day had spread, so that the sky was dark. There seemed to be no air and no light. His knowledge seemed to him an intolerable burden, but until the group of birdwatchers returned from Scotland there was nothing that he could do. Bernard Cranshaw had given his theory more weight, but he had no real proof. He started out for the village.

In the Cranshaws’ house no one spoke. It was so dark that Molly switched on the electric light. In a corner Mrs. Cranshaw sat silent, sullen and recriminating, her eyes blaming not her son, but Molly. Bernard Cranshaw had accepted the idea of a period in hospital with relief, until his mother had returned to the room, and then he had protested that she would need him. He could not leave her. For the benefit of them both Molly explained that Mrs. Cranshaw would be well looked after, but when the doctor arrived, and Molly helped Bernard into the car, his mother stayed where she was and did not say a word. Now the silence was as compulsive as the words had previously been. When, after watching the car drive away, Molly went back into the house, Mrs. Cranshaw turned her face to the wall and waited for the intruder to go away.