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something else to forgive you for,' Henry pointed

out.
    Victor winced. 'It's not a joke, my boy, not a joke at all. I hope that your wife has a

thoroughly unforgiving nature, I hope for your sake, that is. You have no idea what a terrible

deterrent forgiveness is. I'll never forget the time Brenda forgave Hilda Armstrong for...well,

something or other. Of course she did it in public, at a Women's Institute meeting or it may have

been a parish council meeting. Most embarrassing for everyone. Must have been the parish council

because I don't attend Women's Institute functions. Anyway it led to the Armstrongs being

ostracized and, when old Bowen Armstrong didn't divorce her, he got poison-pen letters and filth

like that. In the end they had to go back to Rickmansworth and pretend that life in the country

hadn't suited Hilda's health. Actually she'd looked quite remarkably...yes, well, it only goes to

show how very deadly forgiveness can be.'
    'By the way, Uncle,' Henry said as they finished in the kitchen, 'I'd most strongly advise you

not to touch any of that Perth Special tobacco. I know it's your favourite, but Timothy has been

smoking it and...' He hesitated for a moment.
    'And what?' said Victor.
    'It may be a bit adulterated, Uncle V. I mean...Well, I just think '
    But Victor Gould interrupted him. 'Say no more. I think and hope I understand. And don't think

for a moment I blame you. By the way, where did you find the cyanide?'
    Henry laughed. 'Nothing as bad as that, I promise. It's just something I was given in

Australia. I don't know exactly what it does because I don't use stuff like that but it's like a

rather more powerful form of...Are you sure you want to know?'
    'Perhaps not,' said Victor. 'I think I'll go and meditate in my study for a bit.'
    He went back across the lawn to the summerhouse and sat in his favourite chair and thought how

very pleasant it was to have a really amiable and intelligent nephew like Henry to help him cope

with the crisis. And crisis was what having to cope with Timothy Bright amounted to. It was one

of the mysterious aspects of human psychology that a family that could produce Brenda who, for

all her faults in Victor's opinion, saintliness was one of them was intelligent and civilized,

while at the same time spawning a creature like Timothy. Perhaps he was putting it the wrong way

round and the peculiarity lay in the production of Brenda in a family composed otherwise of idle,

snobbish and self-centred morons. Presently Victor Gould dozed off with the thought that he

couldn't care less what Henry had put in his tobacco. If it got rid of the dreadful Timothy it

couldn't be all bad.
    In front of the TV set Timothy Bright was wondering what they were going to have for dinner.

It was still early, of course, but he felt like a drink. If Henry hadn't been there in the room

with him he would have gone over to the corner cupboard and helped himself, but with Henry there

he somehow felt awkward about it. Instead he reached for the tobacco tin and began to fill his

pipe as a way of showing he could do anything he liked if he really wanted to.
    Opposite him Henry tried not to look. He had had no idea how much Toad to put in and only a

very vague notion of its effect. He had never been into hallucinogenics and had only brought the

bufo sonoro back to give to a friend who was doing research into mind-bending chemicals. All he

had been told in Brisbane was that Toad was about the strongest LSD-type drug you could find and

gave one hell of a trip. And a trip was just what Timothy Bright deserved. On the other hand he

didn't feel inclined to sit there and watch what happened. Definitely not. He got up and was

about to go out when Timothy lit the pipe.
    'I say,' he muttered, 'this baccy's a bit off, isn't it? Got a bloody odd smell.'
    'It's Uncle Victor's Special blend,' Henry said. 'It may be a bit different.'
    'You can say that again.