Crowther stood like a rock.  “I will let you pass, sonny, if you can tell me—­on your word of honour as a gentleman—­that the tables are all you have in your mind.”

Piers tossed back his head with the action of an angry beast.  “What the devil has that to do with you?”

“Everything,” said Crowther.

He moved at last, quietly, massively, and took Piers by the shoulders.  “My son,” he said, “I know where you are going.  I’ve been there myself.  But in God’s name, lad, don’t—­don’t go!  There are some stains that never come out though one would give all one had to be rid of them.”

“Let me go!” said Piers.

He was breathing quickly; his eyes gazed fiercely into the elder man’s face.  He made no violent movement, but his whole body was tensely strung to resist.

Crowther’s hands tightened upon him.  “Not to-night!” he said.

“Yes, now!” Something of electricity ran through Piers; there came as it were the ripple of muscles contracting for a spring.  Yet still he stood motionless, menacing but inactive.

“I will not!” Sudden and hard Crowther’s answer came; his hold became a grip.  By sheer unexpectedness of action, he forced Piers back against the door behind him.

It gave inwards, and they stumbled into the darkness of the bedroom.

“You fool!” said Piers.  “You fool!”

Yet he gave ground, scarcely resisting, and coming up against the bed sat down upon it suddenly as if spent.

There fell a brief silence, a tense, hard-breathing pause.  Then Piers reached up and freed himself.

“Oh, go away, Crowther!” he said.  “You’re a kind old ass, but I don’t want you.  And you needn’t spend the night in the corridor either.  See?  Just go to bed like a Christian and let me do the same!”

The struggle was over; so suddenly, so amazingly, that Crowther stood dumbfounded.  He had girded himself to wrestle with a giant, but there was nothing formidable about the boy who sat on the edge of his bed and laughed at him with easy ridicule.

“Why don’t you switch on the light,” he jeered, “and have a good look round for the devil?  He was here a minute ago.  What?  Don’t you believe in devils?  That’s heresy.  All good parsons—­” He got up suddenly and went to the switch.  In a second the room was flooded with light.  He returned to Crowther with the full flare on his face, and the only expression it wore was one of careless friendliness.  He held out his hand.  “Good-night, dear old fellow!  Say your prayers and go to bed!  And you needn’t have any more nightmares on my account.  I’m going to turn in myself directly.”

There was no mistaking his sincerity, or the completeness of his surrender.  Crowther could but take the extended hand, and, in silent astonishment, treat the incident as closed.