Ducane shook himself. The candlestick was beginning to feel very heavy in his hand. It tilted over and hot candle grease fell on to his wrist and on to the sleeve of his coat. He felt suddenly slightly faint and it came to him that ever since he had entered the room he had been becoming passive and drowsy. He had a distinct urge to remove the objects from the mattress and lie down on it himself. He wondered for the first time how the room was ventilated. There seemed to be very little air to breathe. He took a deep gasping breath and the smell sickened him and he gave a retching cough. 'Foul smell, isn't it?' said McGrath, who was still on one knee beside the cage, watching him. 'But it's not just the birds, you know. It's him.' 'Him?' 'Mr. He smelt something awful. Did you never notice it?' Ducane had in fact noticed that Radeechy smelt unpleasant. He had once overheard clerks in the office jesting about it. 'Well, if we've seen what there is to see we'd better go,' said Ducane. He turned back to the altar. The golden cope with the black pine-cones had been tossed over one end of the mattress. Ducane saw in the close light of the candle that the cope was tattered and soiled, one wing of it darkened near the hem by an irregular brown stain. 'Is there anything else?» 'You've seen the lot, Sir. Look, there's nothing else in the room. Just these tins, nothing more inside except some matches and some of Mr R's cigarettes, bless him. Nothing under the tables except the old pigeons. But just you look for yourself, Sir, just you look for yourself.' Ducane walked along the edges of the room with his candle and then turned to face McGrath who was now standing with his back to the tau cross, watching Ducane intently. Ducane saw that McGrath had picked up the whip and was teasing the slender tapering point of it with a finger of his left hand. McGrath's eyes were empty featureless expanses of pale blue. It's the dreariness of it, thought Ducane, that stupefies. This evil is dreary, it's something shut in and small, dust falling upon cobwebs, a bloodstain upon a garment, a heap of dead birds in a packing case. Whatever it was that Radeechy had so assiduously courted and attracted to himself, and which had breathed upon him, squirted over him, that odour of decay, had no intensity or grandeur. These were but small powers, graceless and bedraggled. Yet could not evil damn a man, was there not blackness enough to kill a human soul? It is in me, thought Ducane, as he continued to look through the empty blue staring eyes of McGrath. The evil is in me. There are demons and powers outside us, Radeechy played with them, but they are pygmy things. The great evil, the real evil is inside myself. It is I who am Lucifer. With this there came a rush of darkness within him which was like fresh air. Had Radeechy felt this onrush of black beatitude as he stood before the cross reversed and rested the chalice upon the belly of the naked girl? 'What's the matter, Sir?' 'Nothing,' said Ducane. He put the candle down on the nearest table. 'I feel a little odd. It's the lack of air.' 'Sit down a minute, Sir. Here's a chair.' 'No, no. What are those odd marks on the wall behind you?' 'Oh just the usual things, Sir. Soldiers I'd say.' Ducane leaned across the mattress and examined the white wall. It was a wall of whitewashed brick and the appearance of a wallpaper had been given to it by a dense covering of graffiti, reaching from the ceiling to the floor. The customary messages and remarks were followed here and there by dates – all wartime dates. There were representations of the male organ in a variety of contexts. The decorated wall behind the cross provided a backcloth which was suddenly friendly and human, almost good. Then certain marks caught Ducane's eye which seemed of more recent date, as if they had been put on with a blue felt pen. They overlaid the pencil scrawling of the soldiers. There were several carefully drawn pentograms and hexograms. Then in Radeechy's small pedantic hand was written Asmodeus, Astaroth, and below that Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of law. Directly above the cross was a large blue square which Ducane, moving the candle nearer, saw to be composed of capital letters. The letters read as follows: O A I A 0 I A 0 A I I 0 A O A I O I O A all A 'What does that mean?' 'Lord, Sir, I don't know. It's in some funny foreign language. Nir Radeechy wrote it up one day. He told me to be careful not to smudge it when I was dusting.' Ducane took out his diary and copied the square of letters down into the back of it. 'Let's go,' he said to McGrath. 'Just a minute, sir,' said McGrath. They were both leaning against the trestle table with the cross upon it. Lit by the candles behind it, the multiple shadow of the reversed cross flickered upon their two hands, McGrath's left and Ducane's right, which were gripping the edge of the trestle. McGrath was still holding the whip in his right hand, drooping it now against his trouser leg. Stooping a little, and with a delicate almost fastidious gesture, Ducane took the whip out of McGrath's hand and swinging it round behind him tossed it on to the mattress. As his fingers touched McGrath's he saw McGrath's head and shoulders very clearly as if inscribed in an oval of light, the red-golden hair, the narrow pale face, the unflecked blue eyes. The vision carried with it a sense of something novel. Ducane thought, I am seeing him for the first time as being young, no, no, I am seeing him for the first time as being beautiful. He tensed his hand upon the table, dragging his nails across the surface of the wood. 'Let's not quarrel, Sir, shall we?' 'I wasn't aware that we were – quarrelling,' said Ducane after a moment. He took a slow step backward. 'Well, there was that little business of ours, you know. You were kind enough to help me out with a little money, if you remember, Sir. And I was able to oblige you about the young ladies' letters. I'd be most grateful, Sir, if we could now put this little matter on a proper business footing and then we can both forget all about it, see? I like you, Sir, I won't make any secret of it, I like you, and I want us to be friends. Mr Radeechy and I were friends, like, and you and I could be friends, Mr Ducane, Sir, and that's what I'd like best. There's a lot I could do for you, Sir, if I was so minded, I'm a very useful man, Sir, and a jack of all trades if I may say so, and Mr Radeechy found me very useful indeed. I'd like to serve you, Sir, and that comes from the heart. But I think it would be nicer for us both if we just settled up the other little thing first of all. A matter of four pounds a week, say, not much, Sir, to you, I mean I wouldn't want to charge you much. Just that, regular like – so perhaps Sir, if you wouldn't mind just filling in this banker's order, I've always found that the easiest way 'A banker's order?' said Ducane, staring at the apparition of McGrath flourishing a piece of paper in front of him. Then he began to tremble with laughter. One of the candles went out. 'A banker's order? No, no, McGrath. You've got it all wrong, I'm afraid. You're a damnable villain but I'm not a total fool. I paid you a little because I needed you for this investigation. Now that you've done all you can for me I'm not paying you another penny.' 'In that case, Sir, I'm afraid' I shall be forced to communicate with those young ladies. You realize that?» 'You can do what you like about the young ladies,' said Ducane. 'I'm through with you, McGrath. The police will communicate with you about collecting up the stuff from here and you'll be required to make a statement. You'll be off my hands, thank God. And I never want to see or hear of you again. Now we're going back.' 'But, Sir, Sir ' 'That's enough, McGrath. Just hand me the torch, will you? Now lead the way. Quick march.' The remaining candles were blown out. The black door opened and let in the dark fresher air of the tomb- like passage. McGrath faded through the doorway. Ducane followed, holding the torch so as to illuminate McGrath's heels. As he began to mount the ramp he felt a curious taste upon his tongue. He realized that at some point he must have put the half walnut absently into his mouth and eaten it; Dearest John, forgive me for writing, I've just got to write. I've got to do something which connects me with you, really, and not just in thought, and this is all I can do. Thank you very much for your dear postcard. I am so glad to think that I shall see you the week after next. But it seems rather a long time to wait. And I thought perhaps you would be glad to know that I was thinking about you all the time. Is that wrong of me? I am so happy when I think
