There was still a thing that he must do. He went to say good-bye to Bunning. He thought with surprise as he climbed the stairs that this was the first time that he'd ever been to Bunning's room. It had always been Bunning who had come to him. He would always see that picture—-Bunning standing, clumsily, awkwardly in the doorway. Poor Bunning!
When Olva came in he was sitting in a very old armchair, staring into the fire, his hair on end and his tie above his collar. Olva watched him for a moment, the face, the body, everything about him utterly dejected; the sound of Olva's entrance did not at once rouse him. When at last he saw who it was he started up, his face flushing crimson.
"You!" he cried.
"Yes," said Olva, "I've come to tell you that everything's all right."
For a moment light touched Bunning's eyes, then slowly he shook his head.
"Things can't be all right. It's gone much too far."
"My dear Bunning, I've seen Craven. I've told him. I assure you that all is well."
"You told him?"
"Everything. That I killed Carfax—he knew it, of course, long ago. He went fast asleep at the end of it."
Bunning shook his head again, wearily. "It's all no good. You're saying these things to comfort me. Even if Craven didn't do anything he wouldn't let you marry his sister now. That's more important than being hung."