'I think perhaps just a tiny spot for me, not more than a quarter of a pint.' As he stood at the dressing-table, Hunter said reflectively, 'You know, describing my methods to you like that makes me see how closely they resemble those of your school of thought. As you probably know, a lot of homos are keen on squalor. Or they're deliberately undiscriminating about who they go with. Or they enjoy paying for it or being paid. But with one important exception I'm just like you. I wonder whether Dr. Best may not have got on to a sort of mirror-image of the truth about me. Could I be a repressed heterosexual, do you suppose?'
'Christ, how would I know?'
'It might explain my feelings about women.' Hunter sat down again. 'As far as going to bed with them is concerned-something I've been known to do between affairs-I've always found them surprisingly pleasant considering they're not boys. Less interesting anatomically, true, but the main outlines of their shape strike me as all right, if a bit eccentric. It's the details I can't really do with. I don't like the shape of their hands. Little narrow claws like that never did anything of importance. And those finger-nails. There's something precious about them. And when did you ever see a good-looking woman with a decent firm nose? Little puggy snouts. Well. Doesn't it strike you that I'm sort of cooking up excuses for objecting to them? I mean, if I were as dead against them as an honest-to-goodness, middle-of-the-road, God-fearing queer ought to be, what I'd be taking against would be things like their breasts. Which in fact I'm definitely for. Do you see what I'm driving at?'
'Yes. So much so that you must be on the wrong track. From what I know of Dr. Best's line on things, if you were a repressed heterosexual things like breasts would be exactly what you would take against, so that you could go on concealing from yourself your basic heterosexuality.'
'Whereas if I were a repressed homosexual the reason I'd take against things like breasts would be that my concealed hatred of women was fastening on one of their most obvious womanly attributes. Yes, I see. I must say I really shall have to do something about Dr. Best. I'm beginning to feel quite strongly on the point.'
'What sort of thing have you in mind for the doctor?'
'A nasty sort of thing. That's as far as I've got with the project at the moment. But I've plenty of time to map out a scheme before we all finish here and go our respective ways.'
Churchill said, 'I think I will have some more whisky after all.'
'Help yourself. You're a bit up and down tonight, aren't you?'
'Sorry.'
'Don't worry about Fawkes. I told you, he's better off than any of us.'
'It's not only that. It's… the Army.'
'Why, what's it been doing to you?'
'I seem to have got completely fed up with it. I don't believe in it any more.'
'Christ,' said Hunter, 'did you ever?'
'Oh yes. I thought it did very good and necessary things. That's why I joined.'
'My dear, you never cease to amaze me.'
'Well, why did you join?'
'Just the uniform. My favorite kind of young fellow looks at his best in it. I'm told that opportunities for the side of life we've been discussing are better in the Navy, but they make the lower deck wear such silly trousers. Whereas khaki really brings out the… I remember the very day I decided I must take the Queen's shilling. My parents had dragged me along to look at and be looked at by a new school, a thing I'm sorry to say they had to do at more than one juncture. We were wandering round some gloomy bloody cloister in the wake of the Head, when there appeared from nowhere the most theatrically gorgeous child you ever saw in your life-wearing his Training Corps uniform. That's for me, I said. To myself, of course.'
'And was it?'
'Oh yes, it was, any time I cared to ask. But it was also for about forty other people any time they cared to ask. Unfortunately.'
'That's good, though, isn't it, according to you? It ought to have taken care of preventing you getting emotionally involved.'
'Yes, indeed it ought, but it didn't work like that. I was still feeling my way in those days. I'm in no such danger now.'
Hunter stood up and slowly took off his jacket.
'What's this I'm in for?' asked Churchill. 'A demonstration?'
'That takes at least two, and besides myself there's only you present, and you're not my type, I'm sorry to say. You're too mature. In looks, that is. No, I'm getting ready for bed. And don't say how sensible that is of me or I'll drink the rest of that bottle to put you in your place.'
'I'll be off, then. See you in the morning.'
'You will. Good night, James. Thank you for listening.'
When Churchill had gone, Hunter sat down on his bed and looked jerkily about his room, like a man in search of something to smash.
'Now you're sure Evans knows which key it is?' asked Leonard.
Deering clicked his tongue and sighed. 'I told you,' he said. 'There's only just the four on the ring. One's the key of the room. Evans knows that one because Ayscue's lent it to him dozens of times so he can pick up his laundry and the rest of it. Then there's one that must be the key of Ayscue's strong-box because it's too small to be anything else. Then there's a Yale key we don't know anything about, but it can't be the one we're after because the cupboard's not got a Yale lock. So the only other one must be the one. Okay?'
'And Evans can get it out of the room to you and get it back in again without being spotted?'
