SANCTUARY
"Hullo, sonny! You!"
Edmund Crowther turned from his littered writing-table, and rose to greet his visitor with a ready smile of welcome.
"Hullo!" said Piers. "How are you getting on? I was in town and thought
I'd look you up. By Jove, though, you're busy! I'd better not stay."
"Sit down!" said Crowther.
He took him by the shoulders with kindly force and made him sit in his easy-chair. "I'm never too busy to be pleased to see you, Piers," he said.
"Very decent of you," said Piers.
He spoke with a short laugh, but his dark eyes roved round restlessly.
There was no pleasure in his look.
The light from Crowther's unshaded lamp flared full upon him. In his faultless evening dress he looked every inch an aristocrat. That air of the old-Roman patrician was very strong upon him that night. But there was something behind it that Crowther was quick to note, something that reminded him vividly of an evening months before when he had fought hand to hand with the Evesham devil and had with difficulty prevailed.
He pushed his work to one side and foraged in his cupboard for drinks.