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shared a bed here, or had ever even thought of doing so, any more than they had at home, for many a long year. Quite soon after their arrival at Emmerton Hall Mildred had laid claim to the room with the big brass bed, not because it was a double bed, oh no, but because the counterpane matched the cretonne curtains, and she liked that. Arnold had acquiesced most willingly because it meant absolutely nothing to him, and also it was nice to have her pleased about something. He still thought of it as her room, even now she was gone, and now and then during the long quiet evenings he would glance into it and feel quite lonesome. Well, it was lonesome, wasn’t it? There was always this feeling of being the last man left alive in the huge empty building, whispering with history and the voices of the dead.
    He’d soon get used to being alone, of course; already had got used to it, in a manner of speaking, and at eleven o’clock, after listening peacefully to a Brahms concert on the radio, he prepared for bed with almost no qualms at all. He had quite got over that neurotic checking and re-checking of window-latches and locks which had plagued him for the first few nights after Mildred left him. Half a dozen times an evening he would creep into her room to make sure he had fixed the safety-catches onher windows, although he knew perfectly well that he had done so.
    Stupid! Thank goodness he was over that sort of silliness ! He treated himself tonight to a long, luxurious bath, and as he lay in bed afterwards, relaxed and soothed, he mused on how amazed the one-time inhabitants of these walls would have been to think that the day would come when a hot bath could be achieved by the mere turn of a tap!
    Or would they? Since, for them, the same could be achieved by the mere summoning of the appropriate servants , would they feel that anything much had changed?
    *
    He woke, with nerve-jangling suddenness, to the sound of the telephone screaming at him across the room. For a moment he thought he must have overslept, had failed to unlock the main gates at opening-time, and the visitors would all be milling about outside, trying to get in … and he was already out of bed and shuffling into his slippers before he realised that this could not be so. No gleam of daylight showed through the holes high up in the shutters; and when he switched on the bedside lamp and looked at his watch, he saw that it was not yet a quarter to three. The relief at this discovery was short-lived; for something must be up. Was it the police? Had the alarm gone off at the local police-station, indicating an intruder at Emmerton Hall? And was it all going to be Arnold’s fault? … Stumbling across the room still muzzy with sleep, he snatched up the receiver. “Hullo?” he said; and then recovering his professional manner: “Emmerton Hall, Caretaker’s Office. Can I help you?”
    The silence was total. Well, no, not quite total; there was a sound of breathing, but that was all. Was this the “Heavy Breathing” described by such women as seemed prone to have this sort of thing happen to them? Well, “prone” was perhaps unkind, but the fact remainedthat some women go on and on about it and finally go ex-directory, whereas others don’t. There must be something that makes the difference.
    “Hullo?” he said again; and then, “Have you put your money in? Have you pressed Button A?”
    Still no answer. Still the breathing continued. Rather soft breathing, he’d have said, though maybe to female ears it might sound “Heavy”? Curiosity stirring, he held on: what did these chaps say? He had never been able to get a clear account from any of the ladies reporting such victimisation, one and all they were far too shocked, shy or well-brought-up to repeat the words in question. So now here was his chance. The only one he’d ever get, probably. It occurred to him that he didn’t know many obscene words, only about four or five. Were there any more? He held