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By Root 6010 0

in the towering windows of the residents’ lounge was already stained blue-black, but the ladies, engrossed in their interminable game of whist, had not yet thought to summon Murphy or one of the maids to draw the curtains and stem the tide of night seeping into the room. Far overhead, beneath the white ceiling encrusted with plaster roses, laurels, fleurs-de-lys and three-pronged crowns, a trapped sparrow fluttered helplessly from one darkening pane to another. Deep in an armchair, the Major, no less helpless, pondered Sarah’s bizarre behaviour. That afternoon she had been even more taunting and capricious than usual. In particular she had let fall two remarks which he was finding difficult to interpret: “I should be mad about you, Brendan, if we had more in common,” and a few minutes later: “Who should I like to marry? I should like to marry someone just like you, Brendan, only with brains.” Should these remarks be regarded as increasing or decreasing the chances of his proposal being accepted?

He sighed. Soon it would be time for dinner. He attempted to decide whether he was hungry or not, but even the answer to this question eluded him. Compared with his feelings for Sarah all his desires were tepid. Cries and laughter at some incident at the whist-table awoke the echoes of the cavernous room. The sparrow fluttered out once more to beat against the dark glass. There was silence then, except for the beating of its wings and presently a rapid, heavy tread that the Major had come to recognize at great distances. He pictured the gleaming leather shoes with dove-grey spats which were making the tiles of the corridor ring louder and louder. In a moment Edward’s massive and elegant frame (“the tailor’s dummy,” as the Major was in the habit of describing him these days)—silk tie and snowy shirt, silk handkerchief in top pocket—would make its appearance. Edward would smile mechanically in the direction of the ladies, who would probably be too busy to take any notice of him; maybe he would add a puzzled frown in the direction of the Major, as if to ask: “What ails the fellow?”

But Edward’s collar was hanging by a thread and completely divorced from his tie, the knot of which had shrivelled to the size of a raisin. His shirt was ripped and muddy; one lapel of his jacket had been torn out at the seam and hung to his waist; his trousers too were mudstained and the spat of one shoe flapped like a broken bird over the instep. The other shoe had lost its spat altogether. A bruise had swollen and darkened one of Edward’s prominent cheekbones; a trail of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and there was a black congealed mass beneath his nostrils. He waved one closed fist at the Major, stared wildly about the room for a moment, then turned and departed the way he had come. The ringing footsteps started again in the corridor outside, now diminishing. The ladies had noticed nothing.

The Major got to his feet and hurried after Edward. He found him in his study, examining himself in the mirror with his back to the door. From behind, his jacket’s elegance was unimpaired; a rapid swelling and shrinking was visible below the armpits but there was no noise from his breathing. He heard the Major enter and turned, waving that same closed fist.

“Out for a walk,” he said harshly. “Two men tried to attack me.”

“My God! Where?”

“On the way up from the beach a mile or so away.”

“Here, let me get you a drink!”

The Major poured whiskey into a glass and handed it to Edward. He took it with trembling fingers and drank it rapidly, as if he were thirsty. He sat down then but stood up again immediately, pacing back and forth and still waving his clenched right fist threateningly in the Major’s direction.

“Did they want to rob you?”

“I’ve no idea. For all I know they were trying to kill me. It was odd...Not a word! They didn’t say a word. Neither threats, nor abuse, nor argument...Only heavy breathing and an occasional grunt during the scuffle. I couldn’t even see what the blighters looked like. There was a big man whose clothing was ragged and