the ashes of his pipe, and turned back to Bill. He looked at him gravely without speaking.
"What are you going to say to him?" he said at last.
"How do you mean?"
"Are you going to arrest him, or help him to escape?"
"I—I—well, of course, I—" began Bill, stammering, and then ended lamely, "Well, I don't know."
"Exactly. We've got to make up our minds, haven't we?"
Bill didn't answer. Very much disturbed in his mind, he walked restlessly about the room, frowning to himself, stopping now and then at the newly discovered door and looking at it as if he were trying to learn what lay behind it. Which side was he on, if it came to choosing sides—Mark's or the Law's?
"You know, you can't just say, 'Oh er hallo!' to him," said Antony, breaking rather appropriately into his thoughts.
Bill looked up at him with a start.
"Nor," went on Antony, "can you say, 'This is my friend Mr. Gillingham, who is staying with you. We were just going to have a game of bowls.'"
"Yes, it's dashed difficult. I don't know what to say. I've been rather forgetting about Mark." He wandered over to the window and looked out on to the lawns. There was a gardener clipping the grass edges. No reason why the lawn should be untidy
