THE UNDYING THING
more he paced the room. There was a strange simplicity about him, the simplicity that scorns an incongruity. He felt that his lips and throat were parched and dry. He lifted the heavy silver tankard from the table and raised the lid; there was still a good draught of mulled wine in it with the burnt toast, cut heart-shape, floating on the top.
'To the health of Eve and her child,' he said aloud, and drained it to the last drop.
Click, click! As he put the tankard down he heard distinctly two doors opened and shut quickly, one after the other. And then slowly down the stairs came a hesitating step. Sir Edric could bear the suspense no longer. He opened the dining-room door, and the dim light strayed out into the dark hall beyond.
'Dennison,' he said, in a low, sharp whisper, 'is that you?'
'Yes, yes. I am coming, Sir Edric.'
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