She leant across the bar and looked beyond Abel into the Public. Will’s back was towards her. He turned and faced Decima. His eyes devoured her, but he said nothing. Decima raised her tankard and drank to him. He returned the gesture clumsily, and Cubitt saw Watchman’s eyebrows go up.

‘Well,’ said Decima suddenly, ‘what have you all been talking about? You’re very silent now, I must say.’

Before any of the others could reply, Watchman said: ‘We’ve been arguing, my dear.’

‘Arguing?’ She still looked at Will. Watchman drained his tankard, moved up to the bar, and sat on the stool next hers.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Until Miss Darragh came in we did nothing else.’

‘And why should I stop you?’ asked Miss Darragh. She slipped neatly off her high stool and toddled into the ingle-nook. ‘I’ve a passion for argument. What was it about, now? Art? Politics? Love?’

‘It was about politics,’ said Watchman, still looking at Decima. ‘The State, the People, and—private enterprise.’

‘You?’ Decima said. ‘But you’re hopeless. When our way of things comes round, you’ll be one of our major problems.’

‘Really? Won’t you need any barristers?’

‘I wish I could say no,’ said Decima.

Watchman laughed.

‘At least,’ he said, ‘I may hold a watching brief for you.’

She didn’t answer and he insisted: ‘Mayn’t I?’

‘You’re talking nonsense,’ said Decima.

‘Well,’ said Parish suddenly, ‘how about a Round-the-Clock contest to enliven the proceedings?’

‘Why not, indeed?’ murmured Cubitt.

‘Will you play?’ Watchman asked Decima.

‘Of course. Let’s all play. Coming, Will?’

But Will Pomeroy jerked his head towards the public taproom where two or three new-comers noisily demanded drinks.

‘Will you play, Miss Darragh?’ asked Decima.

‘I will not, thank you my dear. I’ve no eye at all for sport. When I was a child, didn’t I half-blind me brother Terence with an apple intended to strike me brother Brian? I’d do you some mischief were I to try. Moreover, I’m too fat. I’ll sit and watch the fun.’

Cubitt, Parish and Decima Moore stood in front of the dart-board. Watchman walked into the ingle-nook. From the moment when Will Pomeroy had taken up cudgels for him against Watchman, Legge had faded out. He had taken his drink, his pipe, and his thoughts, whatever they might be, into the public bar.

Presently a burst of applause broke out, and Will Pomeroy shouted that Legge was a wizard and invited Decima and Cubitt to look at what he had done. The others followed, peered into the public bar. A colossal red-faced man stood with his hand against the public dartboard. His fingers were spread out, and in the gaps between darts were embedded, with others outside the thumb and the little finger.

‘Look at that!’ cried Will. ‘Look at it!’