forthcoming and at his second impatient shout another Japanese
servant bowed himself in, and, kowtowing, intimated that Yoshio
had already gone on the honourable lord's errand and would there
await him, and that in the meantime his honourable bath was
prepared and his honourable breakfast would be ready in ten
minutes.

Craven paused with his shirt half off.

"What errand?" he said, perplexed, unaware that he was asking the
question audibly.

The man bowed again, with hands outspread, and gravely
shook his head conveying his total ignorance of a matter that
was beyond his province, but the pantomime was lost on Craven
who was wrestling with his shirt and not even aware that he had
spoken aloud. It was the first time in ten years' service that
Yoshio had failed to answer a call and Craven wondered irritably
what could have taken him away at that time in the morning, and
concluded that it was some order given by himself the day before,
now forgotten, so dismissing Yoshio and his affairs from his mind
he signed to the still gently explaining servant to go.

His brain felt dull and tired, his thoughts were chaotic. He saw
before him no clear course. Whichever way he looked at it the
horrible tangle grew more horrible. There was a recurring sense of
unreality, a visionary feeling of detachment which enabled him to
view the situation from an impersonal standpoint, as one
criticises a nightmare, confident in the knowledge that it is only
a dream. But in this case the confidence was based on nothing