‘I’ll tell you. Mr Parish, here, said Mr Watchman couldn’t stand the sight of blood. Father said something about iodine, like Dessy told you, and he got the first-aid box out of the cupboard. He took out the bottle and it was nearly empty. Father tipped it up and poured some on Mr Watchman’s finger and then got out a bandage. Then Dessy gave him his brandy. He knocked the glass out of her hand.’

‘Miss Darragh was just going to tie his finger up,’ said Abel, ‘when lights went out.’

‘Went out?’

‘ ‘Ess. They’d been upping and downing ever since thunder set in and this time they went out proper for about a minute.’

‘It was frightful,’ said Parish rapidly. ‘We could hear him breathing. We were all knocking against each other with broken glass everywhere and—those awful noises. Nobody thought of the oil lamps, but Legge said he’d throw some wood on the fire to make a blaze. He did, and just then the lights went up.’

‘Hold hard, if you please, sir,’ said Oates. ‘I’ll get this down in writing.’

‘But, look here—’

Parish broke off and Will began again.

‘When the lights went on again we all looked at Mr Watchman. He was in a kind of fit, seemingly. He thrashed about with his arms and legs and then fell backwards on settle, where he is now. His breathing came queer for a bit and then—didn’t come at all. I tried to get doctor, but the wires must be down. Then I came out and called you.’

Will turned Decima towards the door.

‘If you want me, Father,’ he said, ‘I’ll be up along. Coming, Dessy?’

‘I’m all right,’ said Decima.

‘You’ll be better out of here.’

She looked at him confusedly, seemed to hesitate, and then turned to Miss Darragh.

‘Will you come, too?’ asked Decima.

Miss Darragh looked fixedly at her and then seemed to make up her mind.

‘Yes, my dear, certainly. We’re better out of the way now, you know.’

Miss Darragh gathered up her writing block and plodded to the door. Decima drew nearer to Will, and obeying the pressure of his hand, went out with him.

Legge walked across and looked down at the shrouded figure.

‘My God,’ he said, ‘do you think it was the dart that did it? My God, I’ve never missed before! He moved his finger. I swear he moved his finger. My God, I shouldn’t have taken that brandy!’

‘Where is the dart?’ asked Oates, still writing.

Legge began hunting about the floor. The broken glass crackled under his boot.

‘If it’s all the same to you, Abel,’ said Oates suddenly, ‘I reckon we’d better leave this end of the room till doctor’s come. If it’s all the same to you, I reckon we’ll shift into the Public.’