career. He's either had experience of the thing, or he knows something
about it. Whichever way it is, he's the most terrified object I've ever
laid eyes on!"

Merriton broke into a laugh. But there was not much merriment in it,
rather a note of uneasiness which made Tony West glance up at him
sharply.

"Best place for _you_, old chap, is your bed," he said, getting to his
feet and laying an arm across Nigel's shoulders. "Livin' down here does
seem to play the old Harry with one's nerves. I'm as jumpy as a kitten
myself. Take it from me, Wynne will return, Nigel, and when he does he'll
see to it that we all hear him. He'll probably break every pane of glass
in the place with a stone, and play a devil's dance upon the knocker.
That's his usual way of expressin' his pleasure, I believe. Here, here's
health to you, old boy, and happiness, and the best of luck."

That little ceremony being over, they turned in, Doctor Bartholomew,
his arm linked in Nigel's going with him to his bedroom, and, in the
half-dusk of the spluttering candles, they stood together at the
uncurtained window and looked out in silence upon the flames, the Frozen
Flames that Wynne had gone out to investigate. For quite ten minutes they
stood still. Then the doctor stirred himself and broke into a little
laugh.

"Well, well," he said comfortably, "whatever our friend Wynne is going to
do, I don't really think we need put any credence in the story that he
won't return, Nigel. So you can go to bed in comfort on that, can't you?"

Merriton nodded. Then he yawned and shut his eyes.