“How nearer?”
“People live who knew him in the flesh. You, for instance.”
“Yes,” said Baltazar. “I knew him intimately. We were undergraduates and dons together. I left Cambridge about the same time as he did—when my fellowship lapsed. I went away to the Far East, where I’ve spent my life. I’m just back, you know. Instinct took me to Cambridge, a sort of Rip van Winkle, to see if there were any remains of old friends—and my visit to you is the result of my enquiries.”
“When you wrote to me, I wondered whether you could tell me if my father was alive or dead.”
Baltazar made a little gesture.
“Quien sabe? From what I remember of John Baltazar he was not a man to let himself die easily. He was the most obstinate mule I ever came across. Death would have had a trying time with him. Besides, he was as tough as a rhinoceros.”
“So he still may be in the land of the living?”
“As far as I know.” Baltazar leaned forward on his chair. “You have no feeling of resentment against him?”
“One can’t feel resentment against a shadow,” replied Godfrey.
“Suppose he reappeared, what would be your attitude towards him?”