“It was on that very spot that you let your brother Raymond drown,” said the voice. “Why did you let Raymond drown without an effort to save him?”
For a moment that relieved the tension.
“Because I hated Raymond,” said Colin. “Because he stood between me and my inheritance.”
“But you hate Dennis too. Will he not inherit all that is yours?”
“Yes, I hate Dennis,” said Colin.
“Of course. You tried to corrupt him. You tried to make him miserable. You tried to kill his love for you. We are agreed on that then. You hate Dennis.”
The voice was silent again. The figure surely had moved closer, for now it towered above him. The faint luminousness round its head was brighter: he could see the boarding of the hut and the grey glimmer of the straw where he sat. And then again the voice spoke: Colin knew what it was about to say.
“Why did you save Dennis?” it asked.
At that the pain began, some hot shooting stab of agony. But he could bear that and worse than that. Every moment now seemed to have a quality it had never possessed before: the seconds which he could hear his watch ticking out were not long exactly: they were eternal.
The tension relaxed again.