Saunders came about seven, cold and cross and dirty.  “We’ll light the fire in the dining-room,” said Eustace, “and get Prince to unpack some of the things while we are at dinner.  What were the roads like?”

“Rotten; swimming with mud, and a beastly cold wind against us all day.  And this is July.  Dear old England!”

“Yes,” said Eustace, “I think we might do worse than leave dear old England for a few months.”

They turned in soon after twelve.

“You oughtn’t to feel cold, Saunders,” said Eustace, “when you can afford to sport a great cat-skin lined coat like this.  You do yourself very well, all things considered.  Look at those gloves, for instance.  Who could possibly feel cold when wearing them?”

“They are far too clumsy though for driving.  Try them on and see,” and he tossed them through the door on to Eustace’s bed, and went on with his unpacking.  A minute later he heard a shrill cry of terror.  “Oh, Lord,” he heard, “it’s in the glove!  Quick, Saunders, quick!” Then came a smacking thud.  Eustace had thrown it from him.  “I’ve chucked it into the bathroom,” he gasped, “it’s hit the wall and fallen into the bath.  Come now if you want to help.”  Saunders, with a lighted candle in his hand, looked over the edge of the bath.  There it was, old and maimed, dumb and blind, with a ragged hole in the middle, crawling, staggering, trying to creep up the slippery sides, only to fall back helpless.

“Stay there,” said Saunders.  “I’ll empty a collar box or something, and we’ll jam it in.  It can’t get out while I’m away.”

“Yes, it can,” shouted Eustace.  “It’s getting out now.  It’s climbing up the plug chain.  No, you brute, you filthy brute, you don’t!  Come back, Saunders, it’s getting away from me.  I can’t hold it; it’s all slippery.  Curse its claw!  Shut the window, you idiot!  The top too, as well as the bottom.  You utter idiot!  It’s got out!” There was the sound of something dropping on to the hard flagstones below, and Eustace fell back fainting.

* * * * *

For a fortnight he was ill.

“I don’t know what to make of it,” the doctor said to Saunders.  “I can only suppose that Mr. Borlsover has suffered some great emotional shock.  You had better let me send someone to help you nurse him.  And by all means indulge that whim of his never to be left alone in the dark.  I would keep a light burning all night if I were you.  But he must have more fresh air.  It’s perfectly absurd this hatred of open windows.”

Eustace, however, would have no one with him but Saunders.  “I don’t want the other men,” he said.  “They’d smuggle it in somehow.  I know they would.”

“Don’t worry about it, old chap.  This sort of thing can’t go on indefinitely.  You know I saw it this time as well as you.  It wasn’t half so active.  It won’t go on living much longer, especially after that fall.  I heard it hit the flags myself.  As soon as you’re a bit stronger we’ll leave this place; not bag and baggage, but with only the clothes on our backs, so that it won’t be able to hide anywhere.  We’ll escape it that way.  We won’t give any address, and we won’t have any parcels sent after us.  Cheer up, Eustace!  You’ll be well enough to leave in a day or two.  The doctor says I can take you out in a chair to-morrow.”