‘Ah,’ said Watchman. ‘So Mr Legge has found another victim. A great many people seem to have faith in Mr Legge.’

There was a sudden silence. Watchman leant over the private bar and raised his voice.

‘We are going to have a match,’ he said. ‘Three-a-side. Mr Legge, will you join us?’

Legge took his pipe out of his mouth and said, ‘What’s the game?’

‘Darts. Round-the-Clock.’

‘Round-the-Clock?’

‘Yes. Haven’t you played that version?’

‘A long time ago. I’ve forgotten—’

‘You have to get one dart in each segment in numerical sequence, ending on a double,’ explained Cubitt.

‘In fact,’ said Watchman very pleasantly, ‘you might call it “Doing Time.” Haven’t you ever done time, Mr Legge?’

‘No,’ said Legge, ‘But I’ll take you on. I’ll be there in a minute.’

‘Right. And if you beat me at this I’m damned if tomorrow night I don’t let you take a pot at my hand.’

‘Thank you,’ said Legge. ‘I’ll remember.’

CHAPTER 3
Further Advance by Watchman

‘The chief fault in Luke,’ said Sebastian Parish, ‘is that he is quite incapable of letting well alone.’

Norman Cubitt tilted his hat over his eyes, peered from Parish to his canvas, and began to scuffle among his tubes of paint. He uttered a short grunt.

‘More than that,’ added Parish, ‘he glories in making bad a good deal worse. Do you mind my talking, old boy?’

‘No. Turn the head a little to the right. Too much. That’s right. I won’t keep you much longer. Just while the sun’s on the left side of the face. The shoulders are coming too far round again.’

‘You talk like a doctor about my members—“the” head, “the” face, “the” shoulders.’

‘You’re a vain fellow, Seb. Now, hold it like that, do. Yes, there’s something persistently impish in Luke. He jabs at people. What was he up to last night with Will Pomeroy and Legge?’

‘Damned if I know. Funny business, wasn’t it? Do you think he’s jealous of Will?’

‘Jealous?’ repeated Cubitt. With his palette-knife he laid an unctuous stroke of blue beside the margin of the painted head. ‘Why, jealous?’

‘Well—because of Decima.’

‘Oh nonsense! And yet I don’t know. He’s not your cousin for nothing, Seb. Luke’s got his share of the family vanity.’

‘I don’t know why you say I’m vain, damn you. I don’t think I’m vain at all. Do you know I get an average of twelve drivelling letters a day from females in front? And do they mean a thing to me?’

‘You’d be bitterly disappointed if there was a falling off. Don’t move your shoulders. But you may be right about Luke.’

‘I’d like to know,’ said Parish, ‘just how much last year’s little flirtation with Decima added up to.’

‘Would you? I don’t think it’s relevant.’