“ — I saw you through the mirror as you came into the room, and I knew you must be the little doctor because you looked so … you looked so … Oh, David — David! … Why does it have to happen like this?”

Afterwards, while Leni was hastening back to Midchester in a car with drawn blinds, the listeners in the next room compared notes. It was generally admitted that the interview had been a failure.

“Of course it was pretty obvious he smelt a rat. Didn’t you hear him whisper ‘We’re not alone’? That was a hint to her to be careful what she said … It’s my belief Millman gave the game away talking to him beforehand. Not too subtle, the Major, compared with the old doc — he’s got his head screwed on all right —”

“Till to-morrow morning,” somebody answered with a nervous smile, for hanging is really no joke.

Twilight ushered in the evening, and David watched the slow glooming of the sky with full awareness that it was tor the last time. He was not unhappy. He was not afraid. He was quite calm when the Governor and the Chaplain paid the formal visits that were part of enjoined routine.

The Chaplain came first, a jolly-looking redfaced parson chosen for the job of ministering to the spiritual needs of prisoners because it was supposed that he knew how to deal with men, could meet them on their own level, and so on. His sermons were always full of pat-you-on-the-back optimism, and he said “damn” just to prove his good fellowship. He had known Jessica, through her connection with the Cathedral clergy, and she had always regarded him as “just the kind of parson the modern world needs.” All of which might have made him embarrassed to meet David, had he not been the kind of man who is rarely embarrassed. He sat on the edge of the bed and beamed with man-to-mannishness. “Comfortable, eh, Newcome? Having all you want?”

“Yes, thank you,” said David, who always filled in gaps of emotional response by being polite.

“Thought you might care for a little chat, y’know. How’re you feeling? All right? Pretty cheerful? Read the papers, I suppose? Damned awful thing if the boys aren’t home by Christmas, eh? Still, it can’t be long after — we’ve certainly got the enemy by the short hairs —”

Suddenly David realized who this man was. “Why, you knew Jessie, didn’t you?” he interrupted.

Even the Chaplain’s nerve was somewhat unprepared for the shock of such a reference. “You mean — you mean — Mrs. — the late Mrs. Newcome? Why, yes, I did know her — yes, of course I did.” (As he said to Millman afterwards: “You could have knocked me down with a feather when he mentioned her — so damn casual, you wouldn’t believe it possible …”)

Then David began to talk quite normally — that is to say, from the Chaplain’s point of view, quite abnormally. “I’m glad to speak to someone who knew her, because you’ll understand about Gerald — that’s my boy. Jessie had sent him away to her brother-in-law — Simpson, you know, he’s the Vicar of St. Peter’s. I’m sure he’s being looked after all right, but I do hope they haven’t told him — very much — you know what I mean — you see he’s so nervous —”