‘Storm coming up?’ Parish suggested.

‘ ‘Ess, sir. Very black outside,’ said Mrs Ives.

The next roll of thunder lasted twice as long as the others and ended in a violent tympanic rattle. Mrs Ives cleared the table and went away. Cubitt moved into the ingle-nook and leant his elbows on the mantelpiece. The room had grown darker. A flight of gulls, making for the sea, passed clamorously over the village. Watchman pulled back the curtains and leant over the window-sill. Heavy drops of rain had begun to fall. They hit the cobble-stones in the inn yard with loud slaps.

‘Here comes the rain,’ said Parish, unnecessarily.

Old Abel Pomeroy came into the Public from the far door. He began to shut the windows and called through into the Private.

‘We’m in for a black storm, souls.’

A glint of lightning flickered in the yard outside. Parish stood up scraping his chair-legs on the floor-boards.

‘They say,’ said Parish, ‘that if you count the seconds between the flash and the thunder it gives you the distance—’

A peal of thunder rolled up a steep crescendo.

‘—the distance away in fifths of a mile,’ ended Parish.

‘Do shut up, Seb,’ implored Watchman, not too unkindly.

‘Damn it all,’ said Parish. ‘I don’t know what the hell’s the matter with you. Do you, Norman?’

Abel Pomeroy came through the bar into the taproom.

‘Be colder soon, I reckon,’ he said. ‘If you’d like a fire gentlemen—’ ‘We’ll light it, Abel, if we want it,’ said Cubitt. ‘Good enough, sir.’ Abel looked from Cubitt and Parish to Watchman, who still leant over the window-sill.

‘She’ll come bouncing and teeming through that window, Mr Watchman, once she do break out. Proper deluge she’ll be.’

‘All right, Abel. I’ll look after the window.’

A livid whiteness flickered outside. Cubitt and Parish had a momentary picture of Watchman, in silhouette against the background of inn-yard and houses. A second later the thunder broke in two outrageous claps. Then, in a mounting roar, the rain came down.

‘Yurr she comes,’ said Abel.

He switched on the light and crossed to the door into the passage.

‘Reckon Legge’ll bide tonight after all,’ said Abel.

Watchman spun round.

‘Is Legge going away?’ he asked.

‘He’m called away on business, sir, to Illington. But that lil’ car of his leaks like a lobster-pot. Reckon the man’d better wait till tomorrow. I must look to the gutters or us’ll have the rain coming in through upstairs ceilings.’

He went out.

The evening was now filled with the sound of rain and thunder. Watchman shut the window and came into the room. His head was wet.

He said: ‘It’s much colder. We might have that fire.’

Cubitt lit the fire and they watched the first flames rise uncertainly among the driftwood.

‘The rain’s coming down the chimney,’ said Parish. ‘Hallo! Who’s this?’