set his candle by the bed, and locked the door again from inside.
He rolled up his dressing-gown for a pillow, and placed his watch
and revolver and candle at his hand on a chair. A few broken
reflections drifted through his mind, as he yawned and prepared
to sleep. His brain brought up events of the day--a missed shot,
a good shot, lunch under a haystack with Mary and Fayre-Michell's
niece. She was smart and showy and slangy--cheap every way
compared with Mary. What would his wife think if she knew he was
so near? Come to him for certain. He cordially hoped that he
might not be recalled to his ship; but there was a possibility of
it. It would be rather a lark to show the governor over the
Indomitable. She was a "hush-hush" ship--one of the wonders of
the Navy still. Funny that the Italian roof of the Grey Room
looked like a dome, though it was really flat. A cunning trick
of perspective.

It was a still and silent night, moonless, very dark, and very
tranquil. He went to the window to throw it open.

Only a solitary being waked long that night at Chadlands, and only
a solitary mind suffered tribulation. But into the small hours
Henry Lennox endured the companionship of disquiet thoughts. He
could not sleep, and his brain, clear enough, retraced no passage
from the past day. Indeed the events of the day had sunk into
remote time. He was only concerned with the present, and he
wondered while he worried that he should be worrying. Yet a
proleptic instinct made him look forward. He had neither lied nor
exaggerated to May. From the moment of losing the toss, he honestly
experienced a strong, subjective impression of danger arising out
of the proposed attack on the mysteries of the Grey Room. It was,