I went back to Ardenlea after the four hours, to await Jim’s return from the operation. As I walked along the drive, a tall man in a perfectly pressed uniform came towards me. He was making for the gate. He wore riding boots and a red cloth cover over his cap, and carried a valise under his arm. He touched his cap to me as we passed. The Matron, Oldfield, stood in the doorway, watching as he departed and I approached.

‘Is my husband back yet?’ I asked her.

She shook her head. ‘He will not be back until about midnight. I have just told that gentleman the same thing.’

‘Has there been some complication?’

‘I don’t know, I’m sure.’

I contemplated telling her that she was a sadist, plain and simple. Then I thought to ask: ‘Who was that man?’ (We could still hear his brisk retreating footsteps on the gravel of the drive.)

‘He’s in the Military Mounted Police.’

Being in a kind of daze, I said, ‘Well, I didn’t see his horse.’

‘He came by train.’

‘What does he want with Jim?’

And so, Lillian, I gave Oldfield the opportunity of experiencing the most wonderful pleasure, for she said:

‘I see no reason why I shouldn’t tell you. He means to take your husband in charge.’

‘Why? On what charge?’

‘On a charge of murder.’

‘Well then. There has obviously been a mistake.’

‘Sergeant Major Thackeray’, she said, nodding towards the opened gate, which the man in the red-covered hat was now walking through, wheeling to the right, as though giving himself marching orders, ‘has come all the way from France expressly to bring the charge, so I shouldn’t think there’s been a mistake. I am to be responsible for making sure that on returning to these premises, your husband does not quit his room before the gentleman returns in the morning.’