That was better. Think about Pat. Talk about Pat.

‘The house is strewn with twigs of all shapes and sizes.’

‘Has he discovered anything?’ If he could keep his mind on Pat it might be all right.

‘He has discovered gold under the sitting-room hearth, a body under the whatyoumaycallem in the downstairs bathroom, and two wells.’

‘Where are the wells?’ It couldn’t be so very long now. Five miles to the head of the glen and Clune.

‘One under the dining-room floor and one under the kitchen passage.’

‘I take it that you haven’t dug up the sitting-room hearth.’ The window was wide open. What was there to worry about? It wasn’t really a closed space, not a closed space at all.

‘We have not. He is very peeved about that. Said I was a once-born.’

‘Once-born?’

‘Yes. It’s his latest word. It ranks just one degree below a stinker, I understand.’

‘Where did he get the word?’ He would hang on till they got to that birch wood at the corner. Then he would ask Tommy to stop.

‘Don’t know. From some Theosophist woman who talked to the W.R.I, last autumn, I should think.’

Why should he mind Tommy’s knowing? There was nothing shameful about it. If he were a paralysed syphilitic he would accept Tommy’s help and sympathy. Why should he want to keep from Tommy’s knowledge the fact that he was sweating with terror because of something that didn’t exist? Perhaps he could cheat? Perhaps he could just ask Tommy to stop for a little while he admired the view?

Here was the birch wood. At least he had lasted that far.

He would make it the bit of road level with the bend of the river. He would make the excuse of having a look at the water. Much more plausible than looking at the view. Tommy would look with alacrity at a river and only with passive protest at a view.

About fifty seconds more. One, two, three, four….

Now.