During the years of the association, Dikon’s duties had included the fending away of Gaunt’s adorers. He thought that he could interpret Barbara’s glances. He thought that she was sick with disappointment, and told himself that only too easily could he translate her mortification and misery. He was angry and disgusted—angry with Gaunt, and, so he said to himself, disgusted with Barbara—and his reaction was so foreign to his habit that he ended by falling quite out of humour with himself. Presently he became aware that Gaunt was watching him sharply and he realized that he had actually been speaking at random. He began to stammer and was actually relieved when, upon the disappearance of Huia, Colonel and Mrs Claire embarked in antiphony upon an apologetic chant of which the theme was Smith’s unseemly behaviour. This rapidly developed into a solo performance by Mrs Claire in the course of which she attempted the impossible feat of distributing whitewash equally between Questing and Smith. Her recital became rich in cliches: ‘More sinned against than sinning…A dear fellow at bottom… Means well but not quite…So sorry it should have happened…’ She was encouraged by punctual ejaculations of ‘Quite’ from her distracted husband.

Gaunt was beginning to get out of an impossible situation as gracefully as might be when Dr Ackrington spared him any further recital.

‘My dear Agnes,’ said Dr Ackrington, ‘and my dear Edward. I expect we are all agreed that attempted murder is not in the best possible taste and a vague distribution of brummagem haloes will not persuade us to alter our opinion. Suppose we leave it at that. I have one suggestion—let us call it a request—to make, and I should like to make it at once. That fellow may return at any moment.’

The Claires fidgeted. Simon, who seemed to be unable to speak in any mode but a truculent roar, said that he reckoned he was going to ask Questing what the hell he thought he was up to. ‘It’s crook, that’s what it is,’ Simon shouted angrily. ‘By cripey, I reckon it’s crook. I’m going to ask him flat out—’

‘You will ask him nothing, if you’ll be so good,’ his uncle said briskly, ‘and I shall be obliged if you will suffer me to finish.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Simon, please,’ his mother implored.

‘I was about to ask,’ Dr Ackrington went on, ‘that you allow me to speak to Mr Questing when he arrives. I have a specific reason for making this suggestion.’

‘I thought perhaps,’ said Mrs Claire unhappily, ‘Edward might take him to his study.’