sultriest days some breath of wind was always moving. Just opposite him,
on the other side of the road, was the street that led steeply upward to
the station. He went up it.

* * * * *

It was about half-past seven o'clock that evening that the storm burst. A
few huge drops of rain fell on the hot pavements, then the rain ceased
again, and the big splashes dried, as if the stones had been blotting
paper that sucked the moisture in. Then without other warning a streamer
of fire split the steeple of St. Agnes's Church, just opposite Mr.
Taynton's house, and the crash of thunder answered it more quickly than
his servant had run to open the door to Morris's furious ringing of the
bell. At that the sluices of heaven were opened, and heaven's artillery
thundered its salvoes to the flare of the reckless storm. In the next
half-hour a dozen houses in Brighton were struck, while the choked
gutters overflowing on to the streets made ravines and waterways down the
roadways. Then the thunder and lightning ceased, but the rain still
poured down relentlessly and windlessly, a flood of perpendicular water.

Mr. Taynton had gone out without umbrella, and when he let himself in by
his latch-key at his own house-door about half-past eight, it was no
wonder that he wrung out his coat and trousers so that he should not soak
his Persian rugs. But from him, as from the charged skies, some tension
had passed; this tempest which had so cooled the air and restored the
equilibrium of its forces had smoothed the frowning creases of his brow,
and when the servant hurried up at the sound of the banged front-door, he
found his master soaked indeed, but serene.

"Yes, I got caught by the storm, Williams," he said, "and I am drenched.