that Kate was his mistress. Ducane could face being thought a brute, but could not face being thought a cold- blooded deceiver. Yet, he reflected, I am a cold-blooded deceiver. What I can't bear is not being one but seeming one! As for Kate, he did not really know how she would take it, and at certain terrible times he pictured himself banished from Trescombe for ever. At these times the thought flashed on him for a second: perhaps after all it would be better just to go on paying McGrath. But Ducane knew that this was the way to hell, and that he should even envisage it showed that he was corrupted indeed. And he thought about Biranne. He thought more and more intensely about Biranne, producing not clarity but darkness. Ducane's particular sort of religious temperament, which needed the energy of virtue for everyday living, pictured the good as a single distant point of light. A similar and perhaps less accurate instinct led him to feel the evil in his life as also single, a continuous systematically related matrix, almost a conspiracy. This was perhaps the remnant in his mind of his ancestors' vigorous and literal belief in the devil. So now he felt that the muddle with the two women, McGrath's blackmail, Radeechy's death for which in a curious way he was beginning to feel himself responsible, and the mysterious and in some way obviously wicked activities of Biranne were all intimately connected together. Moreover the key to it all was Biranne himself. Ducane had begun to have dreams about Biranne and the dreams were odd. In the dreams Ducane was invariably the pursuer. He sought for Biranne with anxiety and yearning through huge empty gardens and bombed London streets. Familiar scenes were transfigured into ghastliness by a need, an absence, the need for Biranne, the absence of Biranne. Ducane, who was not accustomed to taking dreams seriously, attempted no interpretation of these. In his waking consciousness he was sufficiently obsessed with the man, and he could note how the sheer strength of the obsession had moved him beyond his former irritations and resentments. The inquiry was important and Ducane hated failure. But what Ducane now felt as Biranne's involvement in Ducane's own life was more important still. There is the love of the hunter for the quarry. Yet was Biranne entirely a quarry? Was he not also a centre of power, a demon? These bizarre ideas haunted Ducane's disturbed mind not as clear thoughts but rather as pressures and atmospheres. His discovery that Biranne had lied about Radeechy had started a process of development which seemed to have its own private chemistry. While Biranne was just an acquaintance who had been mockingly rude about Ducane many years ago, Ducane had simply felt a small wincing dislike of the man which he had condemned but been unable to lessen. As soon as Ducane found himself with the possibility of power over Biranne and in possession of discreditable facts about him, his interest gained not only in strength but in warmth. The mocking laughter of so many years ago had lost its power to hurt. Biranne as a sinner and as a man in a trap was no longer a menace to consciousness, and Ducane gave himself no credit for an interest which he recognized as having more to do with power than with compassion. However, the fact remained that he was becoming increasingly worried about Biranne and by Biranne. Had Biranne murdered Radeechy? This remained a possibility, and in returning to it Ducane felt a mounting anxiety. He had been putting off a direct confrontation in the hope of acquiring more information, but the sources of information now seemed to be dry. Ducane had no intention of being hustled by his own psychology. But after careful thought he had by now come to the point of deciding: I must see him. I shall have to bluff him, it's risky, but I must see him. And this conclusion filled him with alarm and with a curious deep wicked pleasure. I shall see him tomorrow, Ducane was thinking as he listened to Willy going on talking about the people at Trescombe. 'Has Theo stopped sulking, Willy?' 'Yes. He comes up to see me again.' . I wonder what happened to Theo in India. Well, I suppose one can imagine!' 'I don't know. I thought you might know, John. You are father confessor to all of us.' 'Don't, Willy!' , you are our picture of the just man.' 'That's right, mock me.' 'Seriously – ' 'Chuck it, Willy. How are the twins?' 'Herrlich. They have great souls, those little ones. And they have been vouchsafed no end of flying saucers. They are the only people who are not in a turmoil.' 'Dear me, are the rest of you in a turmoil? Are you in a turmoil? I'm sure Mary isn't in a turmoil. She never is.' Willy hesitated, pulled his lame leg back towards him with both hands, sat up and leaned forward. He looked at the carpet and said, 'You said I seemed cheerful. So I ought to be. I have had a proposal of marriage.' 'Good heavens, who from? T 'Mary.' Ducane was about to say, Splendid, I told her to do that, but stopped himself in time. If he was to have the impertinence to play at being God he must also have the discretion to conceal the fact. How pleased I am, he thought. 'How marvellous!' 'You disapprove ' 'Of course not! So you said yes?' 'I mean you disapprove of her having been so foolish as to want to marry me.' 'Of course not, Willy. On the contrary, I – But you said yes, I may wish you joy?' 'I didn't say yes, I didn't say no. I was speechless with gratitude. I still am.' 'Willy – light out for happiness. Yes?' 'Happiness. I don't know if that can be a goal for me, John., 'Then make it a matter of faith. Mary is – well, Mary is an ace, you know that. What's more, she needs you.' 'Mary is an ace, as you beautifully put it. I know that. And I presume to love her. But I have a soul like an old cracked chamberpot. I could give no joy to a woman.' 'Rubbish. Let her remake you. Have the humility to let her.' 'Perhaps. I will pray about it. The gods have promised me an answer.' 'Oh Willy, you lucky fool' I envy him, thought Ducane. He loves innocently and he is loved innocently. It is simple for him, for him and for his gods. Whereas I have tied myself up in this cat's cradle of treachery and falsehood. But I am so glad I prompted Mary here, I am sure she would not have dared to speak if I had not encouraged her. May I have made the happiness of two good people. But Ducane's heart was strangely heavy. He thought to himself with a sort of desperation, tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow I shall see Biranne. Jessica Bird rang the bell of John Ducane's house. A small man with a delicate brown face and a crop of white hair opened the door. Jessica, who knew that Ducane was at the office, took this to be the manservant. In a firm official voice she said, 'I am from Payne and Stevens, the interior decorators. I have come to take the measurements for the curtains in Mr Ducane's bedroom.' The small man murmured something and opened the door a little farther. Jessica marched in. She had decided that she could no longer live with her uncertainty about whether or not Ducane had taken a new mistress. Or rather, she had no uncertainty, she was sure that there was another woman. She wanted, to make her anguish complete, the absolute proof of it. 'Will you show me Mr Ducane's bedroom, please? I am afraid I don't know the house.' She drew a steel tape measure from her pocket and exhibited it. 'Yes, certainly, yes ' The small man led her up the stairs and into the room in the front of the house above the drawing-room. Jessica, who had never penetrated into her lover's bedroom in the old days, had conjectured that this must be the room, but it was better to be sure. 'Will you want anything, steps or anything?' 'No, no, I'll be all right, you can leave me to it now, thank you. I'll just be about ten minutes or so. I've got to make some measurements in the bathroom too. Don't let me keep you.'
