well, he's not big enough for it. He's got his faults, like all of us, but they aren't on that scale."
"One can kill anybody in a childish fit of temper."
Bill grunted assent, but without prejudice to Mark. "All the same," he said, "I can't believe it. That he would do it deliberately, I mean."
"Suppose it was an accident, as Cayley says, would he lose his head and run away?"
Bill considered for a moment.
"Yes, I really think he might, you know. He nearly ran away when he saw the ghost. Of course, that's different, rather."
"Oh, I don't know. In each case it's a question of obeying your instinct instead of your reason."
They had left the open land and were following a path through the bordering trees. Two abreast was uncomfortable, so Antony dropped behind, and further conversation was postponed until they were outside the boundary fence and in the high road. The road sloped gently down to the village of Woodham—a few red-roofed cottages, and the grey tower of a church showing above the green.
"Well, now," said Antony, as they stepped out more quickly, "what about Cayley?"
"How do you mean, what about him?"
"I want to see him. I can see Mark perfectly, thanks to you, Bill. You were wonderful. Now let's have Cayley's character. Cayley from within."
Bill laughed in pleased embarrassment, and protested that he was not a blooming novelist.
