the orchestral prelude drew tears to his eyes. Before the chorus had done more than enter with magnificat anima mea Dominum the telephone rang. He turned off the music and picked up the receiver.
'Ayscue here.'
'Hold on, sir, call for you… You're through, madam.'
'This is the secretary of the museum library,' said a voice Ayscue recognized.
'Oh, good morning, and what can I do for you?'
'On the question of that manuscript you were interested in, you remember, Major? I've had a word with my chief and he says it's all right for you to have it if you make a donation to a charity of which he's the chairman. Would ten guineas be reasonable, do you think?'
'Oh yes, I think that's a very fair sum. Can I take down the address?'
'I'll give it to you when I next see you-there's no urgency. As regards the other matter you were interested in…'
'Yes?'
'As you know, my chiefs very busy these days. But he says he can give you an interview this evening if it's convenient.'
'Splendid, this evening will do very well. What time shall I present myself?'
'Ten o'clock. If you arrive at exactly ten my chief will be able to fit you in without any fuss or bother. He understands completely about you not wanting to have to chat to other people in the waiting-room and so on.'
'He's a very considerate man, your chief.'
'Well, you know, he's had a lot of experience of people and their ways. Now, you just come to the side entrance of the museum at ten-it's very easy to find-and I'll be there myself to take you up to my chief's office.'
'Right, I've got all that, thank you.'
'My chief says he's very much looking forward to having a chat with you.'
'Have another.'
'Yes, please. It's terrific stuff. What is it?'
'It's called green Chartreuse. I'm glad you like it.'
'Won't it make me tight? It tastes terrifically strong.'
'What do you care? We're on the loose tonight.'
When this brought only a smile by way of reply, Hunter searched his mind for things he could say. There were plenty of things he wanted to say, but they would hardly have been sayable unless Signalman Pearce had been in his arms, instead of sitting very up-right on the far side of a hotel restaurant dinner-table. This was a perennial difficulty. Only by having been to bed with somebody was it possible to attain the pitch of conversational intimacy that was needed as prelude to getting them into bed. So, at least, it often appeared to Hunter at this stage of the proceedings. From this point of view there was much to be said for the heterosexual scene, where any old gap could be effectively got over by inquiries whether anybody had ever said how beautiful the other person was, by statements about eyes being like stars, and even, perhaps best of all, by wordless and mindless graspings of the hand.
The waiter appeared before this particular gap had stretched too far. Hunter looked up at him with approval as well as relief. Although instantly recognizable as one of the boys, of the persuasion which invited pursuit rather than that which pursued, he had not once rolled either eye or hip in course of serving the meal. Such self-restraint, Hunter knew, was rare. It helped to make up for the restrained contempt and amusement in the head waiter's demeanor, and for the unmixed and unrestrained amusement of the two young businessmen and their women at the next table. Pearce had seemed not to be aware of all this, but it was Hunter's guess that he was.
'A large green Chartreuse here, please, some more coffee and the bill.'
'Certainly, sir.'
'What do you think of the padre, Max?' asked Pearce suddenly when the waiter had gone.
He had said 'Max' and not 'sir' every time since being asked to, as if it came naturally to him. Hunter did not bother to speculate how or why it should. He was just delighted.
'Old Willie Ayscue? Not a bad chap for a God-botherer.'
'Why do you say that?'
'Well, you know. Always suspect somebody who goes down on his knees in front of an instrument of torture, even if it is an out-of-date one. But never mind about that now. What made you think of Willie all of a sudden?'
'He asked me to go and see him this afternoon. About music, he said it was.'
'Well, wasn't it really?'
'It started off with that. He showed me a piece of music he said he'd found somewhere. A classical piece, it was.'
'Oh, I know. Thomas Shithead or some such name.'
'Roughead, that's right. He's an old-fashioned composer. This piece of his is a trio. There's a violin in
