"Why did your father rave at you?"
"Good God, I don't know! It was just his way. Well, as a matter of fact, he wanted me to go to Sandhurst, only I wasn't strong enough — not that I would have if I had been, because I should have loathed the Army — and he was frightfully fed-up when I took to writing. Of course. as far as he was concerned, there simply wasn't any other profession but the Army. I've had Army drummed into my ears till I'm sick to death of the sound of it. I've got a cousin who's a cavalryman — well, he was here this weekend, he left soon after breakfast yesterday morning — and all I can say is if he's a fair specimen I'm glad I didn't go to Sandhurst. Only of course, the mere fact of Francis — my cousin — being in the Army was quite enough to make Father think him the devil of a fine fellow. Of course Francis always took jolly good care to keep on the right side of Father. Though as a matter of fact I happen to know that for once in a way he failed to touch Father yesterday. However, that was probably only because father was in such a filthy mood. I've no doubt he'd have stumped up in the end. But because I happened to be a bit delicate, and — well, literary — Father never had the slightest use for me. I may say that the only books he ever read in all his life were Dickens and Scott, so that just shows you the sort of man he was. I mean, he simply knew nothing about art or literature, and he hadn't the slightest sympathy for anyone who was different from himself."
"You must have had a very hard time of it," prompted Harding kindly.
"Well, I did, to be quite honest. Not that it made any odds, really, and I don't want to give you the impression that we were always at loggerheads, because we weren't. Naturally, when I was a kid it was pretty rotten for me, but since I grew up I simply went my way and he went his."
"In fact, there was never much love lost between you?"
"Good lord, no! Father had no time for me at all. Personally, I've always believed it was because of my mother. She ran away with another man when I was a kid — not that I blame her for that, because I'll bet he was a swine to her — but anyway I'm pretty sure that was why he didn't like me."
"Would you describe him as having been "an absolute beast" to you ever since you could remember?"
"Oh, I shouldn't put it as strongly as that!" Geoffrey said. "To me he was more of a joke than anything. though of course he was often frightfully annoying."
At this point the Sergeant's gaze transferred itself to Harding's profile, dwelt there a moment, and fixed itself finally on a blank space on the opposite wall.
"You don't live here, do you, Mr. Billington-Smith:' inquired Harding.