“I’m afraid I must cut you short, Mr. Graffham,” the Warden said. “It isn’t that Councillor Lampton isn’t willing to answer your question. But it does seem to be developing into a kind of gen­eral survey . . .”

I smiled at him.

“I almost feel that I’m in the wrong place tonight,” I said. “I warned you of my inadequacies as a public speaker at the be­ginning of my talk, and now, after Mr. Graffham’s most lucid and searching exposition of the shortcomings of Warley Urban District Council, I wonder at my temerity in speaking to you at all. But Mr. Graffham did ask a question. It was a very good question indeed. It was a question which needed to be asked and, frankly, a question which I hoped wouldn’t be asked. Because I find it very difficult to answer . . .”

But I answered it somehow, making heavy play with the notion of the members of the Council being one and all devoted to the public good. It didn’t in any case matter very much, for I could sense that the evening had ended, that everyone had had as much about local government as they could take. I had known this; Graffham, I reflected with satisfaction, hadn’t. Then I remembered that he was with Norah and I wasn’t; the satis­faction disappeared.

After the meeting had been closed, I asked the Warden who Graffham was.

“He’s very Left,” the Warden said. He filled his pipe. He had, I noticed, a face which didn’t really go with a pipe, curiously metropolitan and sleek with a sallow skin. It was like Graffham’s face, now that I came to look at it. There wasn’t any real worry there. He lit his pipe: it smelled unusually strong and acrid. “Black shag,” he said. “The only tobacco left with any taste . . . Yes, you handled him extremely well.”

“What does he do for a living?”

“Ah, that’s a real West Riding question. And most apposite. He teaches somewhere in Leddersford. That’s an uncommonly pretty dress Norah Hauxley’s wearing, isn’t it?”

“She’s an uncommonly pretty girl,” I said.

He gave me a sly look.

“She’s very ambitious,” he said. “I don’t think she’ll stay in the North very long.”

“No one does,” I said.

“Peter’s very ambitious too. They’re much alike—” He broke off as Graffham and Norah approached.

Graffham held out his hand. “You know Norah, I believe. My name’s Graffham, in case you hadn’t caught it.”

“He has caught it,” the Warden said. “He really was impressed by your question, Peter.”

“I was impressed by his answer,” Graffham said. “He’s quite a nice Tory, I think.”

“A cunning one,” I said. “The most dangerous kind.”

“He’s a thirsty one, I’m sure,” the Warden said. “We’ll ad­journ to the Staff Room.”