Philip nodded to all that was said, looked about, touched things. Everything there was magnificently done but had been wickedly neglected and was now in a ruinous state of decay; it was a sight that went to his heart. He thought he understood now why the house had depressed him at first, where he had picked up the idea of an evil desolation, for everything told the same sad tale, and no doubt downstairs he had quite unconsciously taken in all this. Treated with anything like decency, this house would have been a joy, a miracle. Now they stood there holding a candle to a fallen empire of craftsmanship. A not unpleasant melancholy, touched with autumnal beauty, invaded his mind. He wanted to talk about it to somebody, to Margaret.
They moved slowly down the landing, past several stout old doors. The last of these Mr. Femm tapped with his forefinger. ‘This is my room,’ he said, halting. ‘There are some things here that you would like to see, I imagine.’ He looked at Philip almost wistfully.
I’ve no doubt I should,’ Philip replied, ‘but not just now, if you don’t mind. We’ve got to get that lamp, you know.’
Mr. Femm lowered the candle and then made use of his other hand to stroke his long chin. He looked most fantastically bloodless, brittle. ‘Ah, yes, the lamp.’ He stared at Philip for a moment, then pushed his face forward a little. ‘Why should we bother about the lamp? We have been long enough away now. We can go back and say that we cannot find it or that it was too heavy for us or that it is broken. They will have to believe us. Why should we trouble about the lamp?’ He spoke very softly but with even more precision than usual.
Philip looked at him in amazement. What was the matter with the man? ‘I don’t see the point,’ he began, then broke off and changed his tone, feeling rather indignant. ‘Besides, we couldn’t do that. We said we’d get the lamp and we’ll get it. Why shouldn’t we?’
‘Why should we if we don’t want to?’ said Mr. Femm, calmly. ‘And I don’t want to. Are you afraid of telling a few lies? If you are, I will take it upon myself to tell them.’
‘It’s not that, though I must say I don’t like lying. And in this case it would be particularly mean.’ But Philip couldn’t be angry, it was all so absurd. He never remembered a more absurd conversation—the two of them standing there in the little glow of candle-light at the end of the landing, arguing about a tiny errand they had undertaken.
‘I must say, if I may do so without offence,’ Mr. Femm mused, ‘that for a man of culture, as you have just proved yourself to be, you are singularly naive. Perhaps you have religious convictions, like my sister. Perhaps God is on your side.’
‘No, I’ve not,’ Philip replied shortly. He was beginning to be annoyed. There was something offensive about the man, a queer unpleasant streak in him that could hardly be dismissed as eccentricity. But something came to break his thought. ‘Hello, did you hear that?’ he exclaimed. It was a stifled cry from somewhere, and there came with it a kind of battering noise.
The candle dipped and shook, and in its wavering light Mr. Femm, who had started back, looked more ghostly than ever. He answered Philip’s stare with hollow eyes. ‘I did hear something,’ he said at last.