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This seeing her here, like that, and dad standing there helpless, afraid like himself. He turned and looked at her again. She lay quite still, breathing deeply. They had strapped her down. His mother! Helpless. Like that. Why …?
    â€˜Please! You must go now. This way, please! You can come again any time. Or ring.’
    That was final. And father and son went off down the ward and when they came to the door both looked back, and Captain Fury looked hard at the screen and the quietness about him, the loneliness and desolation of the place chilled him. The nurse was gone. They found themselves standing facing each other in the long cool corridor. A nurse passed. A door opened. A doctor came out, and passing quickly hardly glanced at them. A porter whistled somewhere in the depths. They both wondered why. The place seemed to grow around them, rise higher, spread out and out, until suddenly it was pressing upon them both, smothering them.
    â€˜Come, Dad.’
    Captain Fury put an arm through his father’s. The old man said no word. Like a child he allowed himself to be led out of the hospital. When they got outside it was pouring rain. Desmond could feel his father trembling. ‘Hell!’ he said to himself. ‘Hell! It’s just rotten! Rotten! Lousy! Lousy!’
    Where did his father live? In the same house, of course! By himself now. But he, Captain Fury, lived in Repton Park Road, and Sheila had gone on home and would be waiting for him. Should he take his father home? Should he go with him . Or——They must do something. Get Maureen. But Mr. Kilkey. Yes. He was the one. Dad could go there! Just the place. Mr. Fury all this time was staring up at his son. Not at his face, not into his eyes, but at his uniform, his belt, his leggings, his polished boots. And then to the son’s surprise the old man took hold of his coat and felt the texture of it. Then he ran his hand down the cloth from shoulder to hip. The action amazed Desmond. He was trying to make up his mind too. But it was so funny to see his father doing this sort of thing. Mr. Fury gripped the belt, the brightly polished Sam Browne belt, and pulled at it, then suddenly let it go.
    â€˜What’s all that bloody tommy rot?’ he said.
    II
    About half-past two that morning a policeman on his beat, passing the vicinity of Gelton gaol, saw a woman standing in the doorway. He stopped suddenly and watched her. Being in the shadow she could not see him. Her back was towards him. He flashed his lamp on her. But the woman seemed quite unaware of this. ‘This woman again,’ thought the policeman. He had taken in everything. The dress, the height, the attitude of the woman. Yes. He had seen her before. Questioned her before. He remembered quite vividly. It was without doubt the same woman. He stood still, watching her.
    She was as yet quite unconscious of his presence. Or was it indifference? Nevertheless he would watch her. One thing he did not want to do. He did not want to frighten her. It was the very same person. The woman he had found kneeling against the door, fingering the massive steel studs of it as though they were precious flowers. He nodded his head. He had seen also a dark object on the ground beside her. He knew well enough what that was. Hadn’t he questioned her about it, opened it and found nothing inside but bundles of newspaper cuttings, reports of a trial a year old, photographs of a young man, rosary beads, a holy picture, an almost blackened handkerchief, and in the bottom of it two shillings, and a few coppers? He looked at her again. Would it be that she was actually asleep, standing like that? Not leaning against anything, just staring towards the door. No! If she was asleep she wouldn’t be staring. He scratched his head.
    How long had she been there? A fine place indeed to hang about on a cold November morning. He had called her mother, saying: ‘Now, Mother, what’s all this about?