He had not realized that the shop had looked dim because of the lack of sunshine. The sun must have been under a cloud for some time. It had clouded over, he remembered, at about the time they had got to the service station. But now there was this sudden burst of sunlight. It caught up the colours of the china and through a coloured glass window of somewhat ecclesiastical pattern which must, Mr Satterthwaite thought, have been left over in the original Victorian house. The sun came through the window and lit up the dingy cafe. In some curious way it lit up the back of the man who had just sat down there. Instead of a dark black silhouette, there was now a festoon of colours. Red and blue and yellow. And suddenly Mr Satterthwaite realized that he was looking at exactly what he had hoped to find. His intuition had not played him false. He knew who it was who had just come in and sat down there. He knew so well that he had no need to wait until he could look at the face. He turned his back on the china, went back into the cafe, round the corner of the round table and sat down opposite the man who had just come in.

‘Mr Quin,’ said Mr Satterthwaite. ‘I knew somehow it was going to be you.’

Mr Quin smiled.

‘You always know so many things,’ he said.

‘It’s a long time since I’ve seen you,’ said Mr Satterthwaite.

‘Does time matter?’ said Mr Quin.

‘Perhaps not. You may be right. Perhaps not.’

‘May I offer you some refreshment?’

‘Is there any refreshment to be had?’ said Mr Satterthwaite doubtfully. ‘I suppose you must have come in for that purpose.’

‘One is never quite sure of one’s purpose, is one?’ said Mr Quin.

‘I am so pleased to see you again,’ said Mr Satterthwaite. ‘I’d almost forgotten, you know. I mean forgotten the way you talk, the things you say. The things you make me think of, the things you make me do.’

‘I–make you do? You are so wrong. You have always known yourself just what you wanted to do and why you want to do them and why you know so well that they have to be done.’

‘I only feel that when you are here.’

‘Oh no,’ said Mr Quin lightly. ‘I have nothing to do with it. I am just–as I’ve often told you–I am just passing by. That is all.’

‘Today you are passing by through Kingsbourne Ducis.’

‘And you are not passing by. You are going to a definite place. Am I right?’

‘I’m going to see a very old friend. A friend I have not seen for a good many years. He’s old now. Somewhat crippled. He has had one stroke. He has recovered from it quite well, but one never knows.’

‘Does he live by himself?’