silence; it was such a change.

Then came a still small sound, a creaking of wood from overhead.

"I think you'd better go, Naylor, if you don't mind. After a performance
of that kind he generally comes and tells me about it. And he may be, I
don't know at all for certain, annoyed to find you here."

Alec Naylor got up from the big chair, but it was not to take his
departure.

"I want to see him, Beaumaroy," he said brusquely and rather
authoritatively.

Beaumaroy raised his brows. "I won't take you to his room, or let you go
there if I can help it. But if he comes down, well, you can stay and see
him. It may get me into a scrape, but that doesn't matter much."

"My point of view is--"

"My dear fellow, I know your point of view perfectly. It is that you are
personally responsible for the universe, apparently just because you wear
a uniform."

No other sound had come from above or from the stairs, but the door now
opened suddenly, and Mr. Saffron stood on the threshold. He wore
slippers, a pair of checked trousers, and his bedroom jacket of pale
blue; in addition, the gray shawl, which he wore on his walks, was again
swathed closely round him. Only his right arm was free from it; in his
hand was a silver bedroom candlestick. From his pale face and under his