At ten o’clock Gaunt went down to the Springs with Colly in attendance, and Dikon hurried away in search of Simon. He found him in his cabin, a scrupulously tidy room where wireless magazines and textbooks were set out on a working bench. He was in consultation with Smith, who broke off in the middle of some mumbled recital and with a grudging acknowledgement of Dikon’s greeting sloped away.

In contrast to Smith, Simon appeared to be almost cordial. Dikon was not quite sure how he stood with this curious young man, but he had a notion that his passive acceptance of the role cast for him in the lake incident as the remover of Barbara, and his suggestion that Simon should drive the car, had given him a kind of status. He thought that Simon disapproved of him on general principles as a parasite and a freak, but didn’t altogether dislike him.

‘Here!’ said Simon. ‘Can you beat it? Questing’s been telling Bert Smith he won’t put him off after all, when he cleans us up. He’s going to keep him on and give him good money. What d’you make of that?’

‘Sudden change, isn’t it?’

‘You bet it’s sudden. D’you get the big idea, though?’

‘Does he want to keep him quiet?’ Dikon suggested cautiously.

‘I’ll say! Too right he wants to keep him quiet. He’s windy. He’s had one pop at rubbing Bert out and he’s made a mess of it. He daren’t come at that game again so he’s trying the other stuff. “Keep your mouth shut and it’s OK by me.” ’

‘But honestly—’

‘Look, Mr Bell, don’t start telling me it’s “incredible”. You’ve been getting round with theatrical sissies for so long you don’t know a real man when you see one.’

‘My dear Claire,’ said Dikon with some heat, ‘may I suggest that speaking in the back of your throat and going out of your way to insult everybody that doesn’t is not the sole evidence of virility. And if real men spend their time trying to kill and bribe each other, I infinitely prefer my theatrical sissies.’ Dikon removed his spectacles and polished them with his handkerchief. ‘And if,’ he added, ‘you mean what I imagine you mean by “sissies”, allow me to tell you you’re a liar. And furthermore, don’t call me Mr Bell. I’m afraid you’re an inverted snob.’

Simon stared at him. ‘Aw, Dickon!’ he said at last, and then turned purple. ‘I’m not calling you by your Christian name,’ he explained hurriedly. ‘That’s a kind of expression. Like you’d say, “Come off it.”’

‘Oh.’

‘And a sissy is just a chap who’s kind of weak. You know. Too tired to take the trouble. English!’

‘Like Winston Churchill?’