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with this! There is no point in my offering you my advice, because you wouldn't take it. As my family will tell you, Lord Blacktower, I am the most patient of men; but my patience is wearing thin. I bid you good evening.'

    The old man heaved himself to his feet. 'I too am a patient man, Professor. I have waited for my son for fourteen years. He lives; I know it, and one day you will admit that I was right and you, sir, were wrong. Good evening, gentlemen. Good evening, Mrs Emerson. Don't trouble yourself to ring for the servant. I will let myself out. Come, Reginald.'

    He went to the door and closed it quietly behind him.

    'Good-bye, Mr Forthright,' said Emerson.

    'Let me add one last word, Professor - '

    'Be quick about it,' Emerson said, his eyes flashing.

    'This may be precisely the sort of filthy game you described. But there is another possibility. My grandfather has enemies -'

    'No! You astonish me!' Emerson exclaimed.

    'If there is no further communication - if he can't find a qualified man to lead such an expedition - he will go himself. You look sceptical, but I assure you I know him well. He is convinced of the authenticity of this message. Believing that -'

    'You said one word, and I have let you utter sixty or seventy.'

    'Before I let my grandfather risk his life on such a scheme, I will go,' Forthright said quickly. 'Indeed, if I could believe there was the slightest chance -'

    'Confound it,' Emerson shouted. 'Must I evict you bodily?'

    'No.' The young man backed towards the door, with Emerson following. 'But if you should change your mind, Professor, I insist upon accompanying you.'

    'A very pretty speech, upon my word,' Emerson declared, splashing whiskey into his glass with such force that it fountained up onto the table. 'How dare he suggest I might change my mind? I never change my mind.'

    'I suspect he is a more acute judge of character than you give him credit for,' Walter said. 'I too detected something in your manner... You haven't been completely candid with us, Radcliffe.'

    Emerson winced - whether at the unpopular appellation or the implied accusation, I cannot tell. He said nothing.

    I went to the window and drew the curtain aside. The rain had stopped. Mist veiled the lawn, and carriage lamps glowed through the dark. They were obscured as a shapeless bulk heaved itself between them and my vision. It was Lord Blacktower, mounting into his coach. In his caped coat, wrapped round with wisps of fog, his shape was scarcely human. I had the unpleasant impression that I saw not a man or even a beast, but some elemental force of darkness.

    Hearing the door open, I turned to see Evelyn. 'Cook is threatening to leave your service if dinner is not served instantly,' she said with a smile. 'And Rose is looking for Ramses. He did not come up with the others; is he... Ah, there you are, my boy.'

    And there he was indeed, rising up from behind the sofa like a genie from a bottle - or a flagrant eavesdropper from his place of concealment. Irritation replaced my eerie forebodings, and as my son obediently hastened towards his aunt, I said sharply, 'Ramses, what have you got there?'

    Ramses stopped. He looked like the reverse image of a small saint, for the mop of curls crowning his head was jet-black and the face thus framed, though handsome enough in its way, was as swarthy as any Egyptian's. 'Got, Mama? Oh...' With an air of surprised innocence he glanced at the paper in his hand. 'It appears to be the leaf from Papa's notebook. I picked it up from the floor.'

    I did not doubt that in the least. Ramses preferred to tell the truth whenever possible. I had placed the paper on the table, so he must have pushed it off onto the floor before he picked it up.

    After he had handed over the paper and gone through the lengthy process of saying good night, we made our way to the dining room.

    I had long since given up trying to prevent Emerson from discussing private family matters in front of the