He went upstairs feeling curiously let down. The tension of the morning had aroused an anticipation in him. To spend the rest of the day alone seemed an anticlimax.
In his room he opened a tin of tomato soup, and ate it with bread and butter. He took a volume of Blake off the shelf and tried to read as he drank the hot soup. A few minutes later he returned the book to the shelf and took down The Return of Sherlock Holmes. This attempt was more successful; he read four stories before he became tired. It was now three o'clock. He remembered Miss Quincey's invitation, but felt no real desire to go there. He would have preferred spending the afternoon in bed with Caroline. He stretched and yawned, massaging his eyelids with his fingers, then stood up and looked out of the window. The day was grey and cold. He typed a note on a half sheet of quarto paper, then put on his coat and went downstairs, locking his door behind him. He propped the note against the telephone as he went out.
She looked pleased to see him.
Come and get warm. I've been expecting you.
Really? Why?
I just rang you up. The girl told me you'd left a telephone number, and when I asked for it it turned out to be mine?
He said, chuckling:
That must have been a pleasant surprise!
There was a coal fire burning in the sitting-room. The curtains were drawn, and the lamplight gave the room an atmosphere of warmth. He was suddenly glad he had come.
Where's Oliver today?
Oh… at home, I suppose. What did Brother Robbins think of him?
Oh… he thought he was a Communist. But he liked you.
Sorme said: Hmmm.
She asked, smiling:
You didn't like him much, did you?
Not much. Do you?
He's a very good man. He does a great deal of social work besides his work for us.
She saw Sorme's grimace as she said 'us', and coloured. She asked:
Why didn't you like Brother Robbins?
Sorme said:
I didn't dislike him particularly. But I can't imagine why you're mixed up with that bunch. I don't mind intelligently religious people. But anybody can see he's as crack-brained as a flat-earther.
She said, shrugging:
It's true he's not particularly intelligent. But he's kind-hearted, and that's the main thing.
I suppose so. But what's to stop you becoming a Catholic or a Baptist if that's all that matters? You'll find just as many kind people there, I expect.
I can tell you in one sentence. I can't stand churches.
No?
No. I don't know why. When I was a little girl, I used to be sick in church.
And is that the only reason you're a Jehovah's Witness?
Of course not. But it's the reason that I wasn't a member of any other congregation before I became a Witness.
But surely the Witnesses have a sort of a church — Kingdom Hall, or whatever they call it?
Yes.
Don't you go there?
Not often. Twice a year perhaps I go to prayer meetings at the houses of other members — and of course I hold them here.
Sorme looked at her face, lit by the flames, and became aware of her as a different personality; she seemed younger, and also weaker. A kind of understanding was forming in him.
But you didn't feel the same aversion for the Bible?
Oh no. At least, I did as a girl. Or I should say, I was indifferent to it. I could never understand why they had to say 'art' instead of 'are' and things like that. And once I got slapped by my nurse when she thought I was making fun of the Bible. I wanted to know why it was always talking about people 'arising'. 'He arose and went to the land of Uz.' I said it made it sound as if the ancient Hebrews were sitting down all the time, and it was quite an event when they stood up.
Sorme said, laughing:
You sound as if you had quite a sense of humour!
No. I was serious.
The telephone began to ring. She went out to answer it, and called a moment later:
It's for you.
He said:
Good. That'll be Austin.
No, it's Oliver.
Oliver!
He went to the phone and said:
Hello, Oliver.
Glasp's voice sounded muffled.
Listen, Gerard, can you help me? I'm in trouble.
What sort of trouble?
I'm in Commercial Street police station. I'm under arrest.
What the hell for?
Oh… it's about Christine. Her father's laid a complaint against me.
What's the charge?
Seducing a minor.
But… but that's insane! I mean… they can't have any evidence. They've only got to examine her to find it's nonsense.
Glasp said:
I know, but in the meantime I'm in gaol. And Christine's run away, so I shall probably be stuck here till they find her.
Blimey! What a bloody nuisance. Can't something be done?
Yes. You could get me out if you could lend me the twenty-five pounds bail. Or if you couldn't, I'm pretty sure Father Carruthers would.
Right. Just hold on. I'll be right over with the money. See you in an hour. Twenty-five pounds.
Thanks a lot, Gerard. I don't want to spend longer in this dump than I have to.
Miss Quincey came out of the kitchen, saying:
Twenty-five pounds? What does he want that for?
She was carrying a tea tray with a teapot on it.
Bail. He's in the Whitechapel police station.
What on earth for?
He's charged with seducing a minor. Have you got twenty-five pounds in cash here?
No… Seducing a minor?
It's nonsense, of course. Actually, it's some little girl he's taken an interest in. He thinks she has artistic talent. Her father's a habitual drunk and he's trying to cause trouble. The charge'll collapse as soon as she's been examined by a doctor… I wonder if the police would take a cheque?
I… I know someone who'd probably cash one. But how preposterous! Oliver really ought to be a little careful. Do you have to go immediately? Come and have a cup of tea first.
He followed her into the sitting-room. She said:
Have you got twenty-five pounds?
