“Really, you know, Saunderson. For a man at your time of life, and obliged to work for his living, it’s—” He hesitated. “Well, you oughtn’t to do it.”
David smiled in a superior way.
“That’s just where—you’re wrong—Knott—we relieve the—younger men—that’s our job—and I’m proud to—”
Peter Knott’s kindly old eyes twinkled at the thought of David tackling a lusty cracksman, twinkled and then became grave.
“Supposing you get laid up, injured in some way?” he asked.
“We don’t think about that.” David’s expression was serene. “I go on—duty at—two—very quiet then—lovely it is—on fine nights—when I’ve been working—to get out—into the cool air—”
As David spoke Peter Knott pulled out his watch again and then got up.
“I saw your cousin Herbert a few days ago, Saunderson. He said he hadn’t seen you for a long time, wondered whether you’d go down to Rendlesham for a few weeks. He wants a catalogue of his prints, and there are some old manuscripts he would like your opinion about. I’m going down this week-end. What shall I tell him?”
David put down his pipe.
“Tell him—I’m much obliged—later on perhaps—I can’t—leave my duties—while these Zeppelin scares last. They need experienced men—one doesn’t know what—may happen.” He had got on his feet and had gradually reached the door of the tiny flat. “Good-bye, Knott,” he said as he took the other’s hand. “Don’t forget—about Macmanus and—Plimsoll—”