“I think you’d better go, Naylor, if you don’t mind.  After a performance of that kind he generally comes and tells me about it.  And he may be, I don’t know at all for certain, annoyed to find you here.”

Alec Naylor got up from the big chair, but it was not to take his departure.

“I want to see him, Beaumaroy,” he said brusquely and rather authoritatively.

Beaumaroy raised his brows.  “I won’t take you to his room, or let you go there if I can help it.  But if he comes down, well, you can stay and see him.  It may get me into a scrape, but that doesn’t matter much.”

“My point of view is—­”

“My dear fellow, I know your point of view perfectly.  It is that you are personally responsible for the universe, apparently just because you wear a uniform.”

No other sound had come from above or from the stairs, but the door now opened suddenly, and Mr. Saffron stood on the threshold.  He wore slippers, a pair of checked trousers, and his bedroom jacket of pale blue; in addition, the gray shawl, which he wore on his walks, was again swathed closely round him.  Only his right arm was free from it; in his hand was a silver bedroom candlestick.  From his pale face and under his snowy hair his blue eyes gleamed brightly.  As Alec first caught sight of him, he was smiling happily, and he called out triumphantly:  “That was a good one!  That went well, Hector!”

Then he saw Alec’s tall figure by the fire.  He grew grave, closed the door carefully, and advanced to the table, on which he set down the candlestick.  After a momentary look at Alec, he turned his gaze inquiringly towards Beaumaroy.

“I’m afraid we’re keeping it up rather late, sir,” said the latter in a tone of respectful yet easy apology, “but I took an airing in the road after you went to bed, and there I found my friend here on his way home; and since it was Christmas—­”

Mr. Saffron bowed his head in acquiescence; he showed no sign of anger.  “Present your friend to me, Hector,” he requested, or ordered, gravely.

“Captain Naylor, sir, Distinguished Service Order; Duffshire Fusiliers.”

The Captain was in uniform and, during his talk with Beaumaroy, had not thought of taking off his cap.  Thus he came to the salute instinctively.  The old man bowed with reserved dignity; in spite of his queer get-up he bore himself well; the tall handsome Captain did not seem to efface or outclass him.

“Captain Naylor has distinguished himself highly in the war, sir,” Beaumaroy continued.

“I am very glad to make the acquaintance of any officer who has distinguished himself in the service of his country.”  Then his tone became easier and more familiar.  “Don’t let me disturb you, gentlemen.  My business with you, Hector, will wait.  I have finished my work, and can rest with a clear conscience.”

“Couldn’t we persuade you to stay a few minutes with us, and join us in a whisky-and-soda?”