"Ah, I did this stunt alone—before I came here. After the war."
"The Greek War?" Loring asked.
"Surely. They killed my father, did the Turks. And when I'd buried him there was nothing much to wait for. He'd given every last penny to the Greeks, so I cleared out and came to England by way of Japan and the States and a few other places. It was all valuable experience," he added, with a concentrated bitterness that made my blood run cold. When O'Rane spoke in that tone, I could imagine him primed and anxious for murder.
"And drunk delight of battle with my peers
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy,"
he went on. "'Delight of battle'! Oh, my God! These poets and modern war!"
"Did you see anything of it?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I was a kid of thirteen. I saw the—results ... when they brought my father back to the Piræus."
Loring had been lying on his back with his hands locked under his head. He roused himself now to turn on one side and face O'Rane.
"Was your father Lord O'Rane?" he asked.