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friend.”
    â€œYou can rest assured that I will do everything in my power.”
    â€œThank you, sir.” He wrung my hand. “You’re a good sort, Padre. I shall see her to say good-bye this evening, and I shall probably pack up and go tomorrow. No good prolonging the agony. Thanks for letting me have the shed to paint in. I’m sorry not to have finished Mrs. Clement’s portrait.”
    â€œDon’t worry about that, my dear boy. Good-bye, and God bless you.”
    When he had gone I tried to settle down to my sermon, but with very poor success. I kept thinking of Lawrence and Anne Protheroe.
    I had rather an unpalatable cup of tea, cold and black, and at half past five the telephone rang. I was informed that Mr. Abbott of Lower Farm was dying and would I please come at once.
    I rang up Old Hall immediately, for Lower Farm was nearly two miles away and I could not possibly get back by six fifteen. I have never succeeded in learning to ride a bicycle.
    I was told, however, that Colonel Protheroe had just started out in the car, so I departed, leaving word with Mary that I had been called away, but would try to be back by six thirty or soon after.

Five
    I t was nearer seven than half past six when I approached the Vicarage gate on my return. Before I reached it, it swung open and Lawrence Redding came out. He stopped dead on seeing me, and I was immediately struck by his appearance. He looked like a man who was on the point of going mad. His eyes stared in a peculiar manner, he was deathly white, and he was shaking and twitching all over.
    I wondered for a moment whether he could have been drinking, but repudiated the idea immediately.
    â€œHallo,” I said, “have you been to see me again? Sorry I was out. Come back now. I’ve got to see Protheroe about some accounts—but I dare say we shan’t be long.”
    â€œProtheroe,” he said. He began to laugh. “Protheroe? You’re going to see Protheroe? Oh, you’ll see Protheroe all right! Oh, my God—yes!”
    I stared. Instinctively I stretched out a hand towards him. He drew sharply aside.
    â€œNo,” he almost cried out. “I’ve got to get away—to think. I’ve got to think. I must think.”
    He broke into a run and vanished rapidly down the road towards the village, leaving me staring after him, my first idea of drunkenness recurring.
    Finally I shook my head, and went on to the Vicarage. The front door is always left open, but nevertheless I rang the bell. Mary came, wiping her hands on her apron.
    â€œSo you’re back at last,” she observed.
    â€œIs Colonel Protheroe here?” I asked.
    â€œIn the study. Been here since a quarter past six.”
    â€œAnd Mr. Redding’s been here?”
    â€œCome a few minutes ago. Asked for you. I told him you’d be back at any minute and that Colonel Protheroe was waiting in the study, and he said he’d wait too, and went there. He’s there now.”
    â€œNo, he isn’t,” I said. “I’ve just met him going down the road.”
    â€œWell, I didn’t hear him leave. He can’t have stayed more than a couple of minutes. The mistress isn’t back from town yet.”
    I nodded absentmindedly. Mary beat a retreat to the kitchen quarters and I went down the passage and opened the study door.
    After the dusk of the passage, the evening sunshine that was pouring into the room made my eyes blink. I took a step or two across the floor and then stopped dead.
    For a moment I could hardly take in the meaning of the scene before me.
    Colonel Protheroe was lying sprawled across my writing table in a horrible unnatural position. There was a pool of some dark fluid on the desk by his head, and it was slowly dripping on to the floor with a horrible drip, drip, drip.
    I pulled myself together and went across to him. His skin was cold to the touch. The hand that I raised fell back lifeless. The man