‘It was like this, Dick,’ said old Abel. ‘Mr Legge here, had told us how he could throw the darts like a circus chap between the fingers of a man’s hand stretched out on a board. You heard him. Mr Watchman, in his bold way, said he’d hold his hand out and Mr Legge was welcome to have a shot at it. ‘Twouldn’t do no great damage, Mr Watchman said, if he did stick him. Us all said it was a silly rash kind of trick. But Mr Watchman was hell-bent on it.’

‘He insisted,’ said Will.

‘So he did, then. And up goes his hand. Mr Legge throws the first three as pretty as you please, outside little finger, a’tween little and third, a’tween third and middle. Then he throws the fourth and ‘stead of going a’tween middle and first finger it catches middle finger. “Got me,” says Mr Watchman.’

‘And then—then what?’ asked Abel.

‘It was curious,’ said Miss Darragh, slowly. ‘He didn’t move his hand at once. He kept it there, against the board. The blood trickled down his finger and spread like veins in a leaf over the back of his hand. One had time to wonder if the dart had gone right through and he was, in a way crucified.’

‘He turned mortal ghastly white,’ said Abel.

‘And then pulled the dart out,’ said Parish, ‘and threw it down on the floor. He shuddered, didn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ said Abel. ‘He shuddered violent.’

‘He always turned queer at the sight of his own blood, you know,’ said Parish.

‘Well, what next?’ asked Oates.

‘I think he took a step towards the settle,’ said Parish.

‘He sat on the settle,’ said Decima. ‘Miss Darragh said. “He’s feeling faint, give him a sip of brandy.” Mr Legge said he looked ill and could he have lockjaw? Someone else, Mr Pomeroy I think, said he ought to have iodine on his finger. Anyhow Mr Pomeroy got the first-aid box out of the bottom cupboard. I looked for a glass with brandy in it but they were all empty. I got the bottle. While I was doing that—pouring out the brandy, I mean—Mr Pomeroy dabbed iodine on the finger. Mr Watchman clenched his teeth and cried out. He jerked up his arms.’

She stopped short and closed her eyes.

Will Pomeroy had come back with a sheet. He spread it over Watchman and then turned to Decima.

‘I’ll take you out of this,’ he said. ‘Come upstairs to Mrs Ives, Dessy.’

‘No, I’ll finish.’

‘No need.’

Will put his arm across Decima’s shoulder and turned to Oates.