Lascelles raised his riding-whip. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” He urged his horse at Drawlight and flourished the whip. Poor Drawlight had never possessed the least physical courage and he was driven, whimpering, into the trees. A briar caught the edge of his sleeve and he screamed.

“Oh, do be quiet!” said Lascelles. “Any one would think there is murder going on.”

They walked on until they came to a small clearing. Lascelles got down from his horse and tethered him to a tree. He removed the two pistols from the saddle-holsters and stuck them in the pockets of his great coat. Then he turned to Drawlight. “So you actually saw Strange? Good. Excellent, in fact. I was sure you were too cowardly to face him.”

“I thought he would change me into something horrible.”

Lascelles surveyed Drawlight’s stained clothing and haunted face with some distaste. “Are you sure he did not do it?”

“What?” said Drawlight.

“Why did you not simply kill him? There, in the Darkness? You were alone, I presume? No one would have known.”

“Oh, yes. That is very likely, is it not? He is tall and clever and quick and cruel. I am none of those things.”

“I would have done it,” said Lascelles.

“Would you? Well then, you are very welcome to go to Venice and try.”

“Where is he now?”

“In the Darkness – in Venice – but he is coming to England.”

“He said so?”

“Yes, I told you – I have messages: one for Childermass, one for Norrell and one for all the magicians in England.”

“And what are they?”

“I am to tell Childermass that Lady Pole was not raised from the dead in the way Norrell said – he had a fairy to help him and the fairy has done things – wrong things – and I am to give Childermass a little box. That is the first message. And I am to tell Norrell that Strange is coming back. That is the third message.”

Lascelles considered. “This little box, what does it contain?”

“I do not know.”

“Why? Is it sealed shut in some way? By magic?”

Drawlight shut his eyes and shook his head. “I do not know that either.”

Lascelles laughed out loud. “You do not mean to tell me that you have had a box in your possession for weeks and not tried to open it? You of all people? Why, when you used to come to my house, I never dared leave you alone for a moment. My letters would have been read; my business would have been common knowledge by the next morning.”

Drawlight’s glance sank to the ground. He seemed to shrink inside his clothes. He grew, if it were possible, several degrees more miserable. One might have supposed that he was ashamed to hear his past sins described, but it was not that. “I am afraid,” he whispered.

Lascelles made a sound of exasperation. “Where is the box?” he cried. “Give it to me!”