"Yes, I was. It was I who telephoned to the house and found that Craven was out motoring; so there was no hurry."
"Yet you weren't going to see Henry Craven?" murmured Toye.
Cazalet did not answer. His last words had come in a characteristic burst; now he had his mouth shut tight, and his eyes were fast to Scruton. He might have been in the witness-box already, a doomed wretch cynically supposed to be giving evidence on his own behalf, but actually only baring his neck by inches to the rope, under the joint persuasion of judge and counsel. But he had one friend by him still, one who had edged a little nearer in the pause.
"But you did see the man you went to see?" said Scruton.
Cazalet paused. "I don't know. Eventually somebody brushed past me in the dark. I did think then—but I can't swear to him even now!"
"Tell us about it."
"Do you mean that, Scruton? Do you insist on hearing all that happened? I'm not asking Toye; he can do what he likes. But you, Scruton—you've been through a lot, you know—you ought to have stopped in bed—do you really want this on top of all?"
"Go ahead," said Scruton. "I'll have a drink when you've done; somebody give me a cigarette meanwhile."
Cazalet supplied the cigarette, struck the match, and held it with unfaltering hand. The two men's eyes met strangely across the flame.