Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (245 page)

A
retired
admiral,
of
a
strong
political
complexion,
who
had
been one
of
the
foremost
to
dislike
Archie
Cranfield,
called,
indeed,
to
offer his
condolences.
Archie
Cranfield
did
not
see
him,
but
Mr.
Twiss walked
down
the
drive
with
him
to
the
gate.

"It's
hard
on
Cranfield,"
said
the
admiral.
"We
all
admit
it.
It wasn't
fair
of
Brayton
to
take
his
host's
revolver.
But
for
the
accident that
Cranfield
was
in
the
billiard
room
with
Linfield
and
Chalmers, the
affair
might
have
taken
on
quite
an
ugly
look.
We
all
feel
that
in the
neighbourhood,
and
we
shall
make
it
up
to
Cranfield.
Just
tell him
that,
Mr.
Twiss,
if
you
will."

"It
is
very
kind
of
you
all,
I
am
sure,"
replied
Mr.
Twiss,
"but
I think
Cranfield
will
not
continue
to
live
here.
The
death
of
Captain Brayton
has
been
too
much
of
a
shock
for
him."

Mr.
Twiss
said
"Good-bye"
to
the
admiral
at
the
gate,
and
returned to
the
house.
He
was
not
easy
in
his
mind,
and
as
he
walked
round
the lawn
under
the
great
trees,
he
cried
to
himself:

"It
is
lucky,
indeed,
that
Archie
Cranfield
was
in
the
billiard
room with
Linfield
and
Chalmers;
otherwise,
Heaven
knows
what
I
might have
been
brought
to
believe
myself."

The
two
men
had
quarrelled;
Brayton
himself
had
imparted
that piece
of
knowledge
to
Mr.
Twiss.
Then
there
was
the
queer
change in
Archie
Cranfield's
character,
which
had
made
for
him
enemies
of strangers,
and
strangers
of
his
friends—the
slyness,
the
love
of
solitude, the
indifference
to
the
world,
the
furtive
smile
as
of
a
man
conscious of
secret
powers,
the
whole
indescribable
uncanniness
of
him.
Mr. Twiss
marshalled
his
impressions
and
stopped
in
the
avenue.

"I
should
have
had
no
just
grounds
for
any
suspicion,"
he
concluded,
"but
I
cannot
say
that
I
should
not
have
suspected,"
and slowly
he
went
on
to
the
door.

He
walked
through
the
house
into
the
billiard
room,
and
so
became the
witness
of
an
incident
which
caused
him
an
extraordinary
disquiet. The
room
was
empty.
Mr.
Twiss
lit
his
pipe
and
took
down
a
book from
one
of
the
shelves.
A
bright
fire
glowed
upon
the
hearth,
and drawing
up
a
chair
to
the
fender,
he
settled
down
to
read.
But
the
day was
dull,
and
the
fireplace
stood
at
the
dark
end
of
the
room.
Mr. Twiss
carried
his
book
over
to
the
window,
which
was
a
bay
window with
a
broad
seat.
Now,
the
curtains
were
hung
at
the
embrasure
of the
window,
so
that,
when
they
were
drawn,
they
shut
the
bay
off
altogether
from
the
room,
and
when
they
were
open,
as
now,
they
still concealed
the
comers
of
the
window
seats.
It
was
in
one
of
these comers
that
Mr.
Twiss
took
his
seat,
and
there
he
read
quietly
for
the space
of
five
minutes.