"It is time we were going," said my father. "I only gave them the slip five minutes back. It was closer work than I had expected."
And then he started, and looked at me more intently through the darkness.
"Name of the devil!" said my father. "How did you get here?"
But that was all. He never even started. His hand still rested tranquilly on the reins and he still half faced me. Had it been so on that other night long ago, when his world crumbled to ruins about him? Did he always win and lose with the same passive acquiescence? Did nothing ever astonish him? There was a moment's silence, and I felt his eyes on me, and suddenly became very cautious. I knew well enough he would not let it finish in such a manner, but what could he do? The game was in my hands.
"Quite simply," I told him. "My horse was in the stable."
When he spoke again his voice was still pleasantly conversational.
"And Brutus?" he asked. "Where the devil was Brutus? Surely the age of miracles is past. Or do I see before me—" he bowed with all his old courtesy—"another David?"
"Brutus," I replied, "jumped through a second story window."
"Indeed?" he said. "He always was most agile."
"He was," I replied. "Not five minutes after you left, Uncle Jason arrived."