‘This,’ said Watchman, ‘is my affair. Shut up, Seb, I insist. Abel, you and Will must join us.’

‘Well, thank you very much, sir, I’m sure,’ said Abel.’

‘I’m afraid,’ said Decima, ‘that I really dislike brandy. It’d be wasted on me.’

‘What will you have then?’

‘I’m sorry to be so tiresome, but I’d really rather not have a drink.’

‘My poor girl,’ said Watchman.

‘Dessy’ll have a stone-ginger with me,’ said Will Pomeroy suddenly.

‘With me,’ said Watchman. ‘Eight brandies, two stone-gingers, Abel, and kill the bottle.’

‘Good Lord, Luke,’ expostulated Cubitt, ‘you’ll have us rolling.’

‘None for me, thank you, Mr Watchman,’ said Miss Darragh. ‘I’m afraid that I, too, am a Philistine.’

‘You’ll have a drink, though?’

‘I shall join you,’ said Miss Darragh, ‘in the non-alcoholic spirit.’

‘Six brandies, Abel,’ amended Watchman. ‘The first half now, and the second hereafter.’

Abel poured out the brandy. They watched him in silence.

The rain still poured down, but the thunder sounded more distantly.

Watchman took the first tot to Legge and put it on a table at his elbow.

‘I hope you’ll join us, Mr Legge,’ he said.

Legge looked at the brandy and then directly at Watchman.

‘It’s very kind of you,’ he said. ‘As a matter of fact I’ve some work to do and—’

‘“Let other hours be set apart for business,”’ quoted Watchman. Today it is our pleasure to be drunk. Do you like good brandy, Mr Legge?’

‘This,’ said Legge, ‘is the vintage of my choice.’

He took the glass and nursed it between those calloused hands.

‘An exquisite bouquet,’ said Mr Legge.

‘I knew you’d appreciate it.’

‘Your health,’ said Legge and took a delicate sip.

The others, with the exception of Mr Nark, murmured selfconsciously and sipped. Mr Nark raised his glass.

‘Your very good health, sir. Long life and happiness,’ said Mr Nark loudly and emptied his glass at one gulp. He drew in his breath with a formidable whistle, his eyes started from his head and he grabbed at the air.

‘You’m dashed at it too ferocious, George,’ said Abel.

Mr Nark shuddered violently and fetched his breath.

‘It’s a murderous strong tipple,’ he whispered. ‘If you’ll pardon me, Mr Watchman, I’ll break it down inwardly with a drop of water.’

But presently Mr Nark began to smile and then to giggle, and as he giggled so did Cubitt, Parish and Watchman. By the time the first tot of Courvoisier ‘87 had been consumed, there was much laughter in the private bar, and a good deal of rather loud, aimless conversation. Watchman proposed that they have a round-the-clock competition on the dart-board.

Parish reminded him of Legge’s trick with the darts.

‘Come on, Luke,’ cried Parish. ‘If you let him try it on you, damme if I won’t let him try it on me.’