He walks to the window and looks out into the rain.

Finally he takes the blue bottle from his pocket, uncorks it, smells it, and then without more ado drinks its contents. He makes a wry face at its bitterness and stands for a minute uncertain. Then moved by some odd instinct he turns out the light and curls himself up under the coverlet.

At the foot of a low banyan tree the savage lies very still. A large fly settles on his shoulder; two birds of prey perch on the branch above him, waiting. The tropical sun begins to set, and in the brief twilight animals begin to prowl upon their obscene questings. Soon it is quite dark.

A photograph of H.M. the King in naval uniform flashes out into the night.

GOD SAVE THE KING.

The cinema quickly empties.

The young man from Cambridge goes his way to drink a glass of Pilsen at Odenino’s.

Ada and Gladys pass out through ranks of liveried attendants. For perhaps the fiftieth time in the course of the evening Gladys says, “Well, I do call it a soft film.”

“Fancy ’er not coming in again.”

There is quite a crowd outside, all waiting to go to Earls Court. Ada and Gladys fight manfully and secure places on the top of the bus.

“Ere, ’oo are yer pushing? Mind out, can’t yer?”

When they arrive home they will no doubt have some cocoa before going to bed, and perhaps some bread and bloater paste. It has been rather a disappointing evening on the whole. Still, as Ada says, with the pictures you has to take the bad with the good.

Next week there may be something really funny.

Larry Semon or Buster Keaton—who knows?

Conclusion

I

The tea grew cold upon the chamber cupboard and Adam Doure stared out into the void.