But the main point to me was that I had in a measure not only held my own but got on to superior ground. I had been able to talk; in doing so I had got him at a slight disadvantage. The bit of self-respect inspired by this achievement enabled me to play the host and accompany him to the door with the kind of informal formality to which I had been so long unaccustomed.
And in performing this small duty I made a discovery. As he preceded me down-stairs I remembered seeing the back of his head once before. It was the kind of head not easily forgotten. Moreover, I had seen it in circumstances that had caused me to note it in particular. Where and when and how were details that did not at once return to me; but I knew that the association was sinister.
As I returned from my mission in showing him to the door I heard Vio speaking.
"Come in here, Billy. There's something I want to say."
She was still behind the tea-table, pensive rather than subdued, resolute rather than unhappy.
"I liked your talking like that," she began at once, without looking up at me. "It's—it's the way we shall have to play the game."
A box of cigarettes stood on the tea-table. I took one and struck a match, the usual stage-trick for gaining a little time.
"What game do you mean?" I asked, when I had carefully blown out the match and deposited it in an ash-tray.
"What game can I mean but—but that of your coming back?"
"Oh, is that a game?"