he went he amassed native treasures which seemed to stick to his fingers, and which in nine cases out of ten, thanks to his racial tact, would have fetched at Christie’s more than he gave for them.  Coming fresh from foreign soil, they were a godsend to Bernard, who was weary of collecting from collectors’ catalogues.  “Can I have this flint knife?  Egyptian, isn’t it?  Oh, thanks awfully, I’m taking all the best.”  This was true.  But Lawrence, like most of his nation, gave freely when he gave at all.  “No, I never was one for plays except Gilbert and Sullivan and the ‘Merry Widow’ and things like that with catchy tunes in ’em.  Choruses.”  He gave a reminiscent laugh.

“Legs?” suggested Lawrence.

“Exactly,” said Bernard, winking at him.  “Oh damn!” A mechanical jerk of his own legs had tilted the table and sent the knife rolling on the floor.  Lawrence picked it up for him, drew his feet down, and tucked a rug over his hips.

“Mind that box of Burmese darts, old man, they’re poisoned.—­ I used to be an inveterate first-nighter.  Still am, in fact, when I’m in or near town.  I can sit out anything from ’Here We Are Again’ to ‘Samson Agonistes.’  To be frank, I rather liked ‘Samson’:  it does one’s ears good to listen to that austere, delicate English.”

“How long would these take to polish one off?”

“Ten or twelve hours, chiefly in the form of a hoop.  No, Berns, I can’t recommend them.”  He drew from its jewelled sheath and put into Bernard’s hands a Persian dagger nine inches long, the naked blade damascened in wavy ripplings and slightly curved from point to hilt.  “That would do your trick better.  Under the fifth rib.  I bought it of a Greek muleteer, God knows how he got hold of it, but he was a bit of a poet:  he assured me it would go in ’as soft as a kiss.’  For its softness I cannot speak, but it is as sharp as a knife need be.”

“Sharper,” said Bernard, his thumb in his mouth.

“You silly ass, I warned you!—­ I should rather like to see this Moore play.  I suppose Laura never goes, as you don’t?”

“I don’t stop her going, as you jolly well know.  She’s welcome to go six nights a week if she likes.”

“She couldn’t very well go alone,” Lawrence ignored the scowl of his host.  “Tell you what:  suppose I took her tonight?  I could run her up and down in my car, or we could get back by the midnight train.  Would the feelings of Chilmark be outraged?”

“What business is it of Chilmark’s?  If I’m complaisant, that’s enough,” said Bernard, his features relaxing into a broad grin.  “I may be planked down in a country village for the rest of my very unnatural life, but I’ll be shot if I’ll regulate mine or my wife’& behaviour by the twaddle they talk!  I’ll have that dagger.”  Slipping it slowly into its sheath he watched it travel home, the supple female curve gliding and yielding as a woman yields to a man’s caress.  “Voluptuous, I