“Not much,” said Henry.

“Well, anyway, I bet something’s up,” Mike persisted. “I bet Uncle G.’s in a stink about something. He looks absolutely fed-up and he and Daddy have been yelling blue murder. I say, do you know Giggle’s fixed up my Hornby train? He’s absolutely wizard with trains. I bet he could—”

“Mike,” said Henry. “Did Mummy tell you to give the pot to Uncle Gabriel?”

“What? Oh. Well, no. You see Giggle and I were trying my Hornby in the passage and it goes absolutely whizzer now because—”

“The pot,” said Stephen.

“What? Well, I saw it through Mummy’s door so I just—”

A distant voice yelled “Violet!”

“Who’s that?” asked Frid.

“It’s Uncle G.,” explained Mike. “He’s in the lift. Giggle had his coat off because he says—”

“I’d better go to Mummy,” said Frid. “She may be in difficulties with the aunts. Come on, Patch.” They went out.

“What is the matter with Uncle G.?” asked Mike with casual insistence.

Stephen looked at him. “If you must know,” he said violently, “Uncle Gabriel is—”

“Never mind that,” said Colin. “Come on out of this, Step. We need air.”

“I think we had better go and talk to Father,” said Henry. “It’s beastly to leave him alone in there. Come on you two.”

The three boys went out together. Roberta was left in the dining-room with Mike.

“I suppose you’re not interested in Hornby trains,” said Mike with an unconvincing air of casualness.

“I’d like to see yours,” said Roberta.

“We could play with it now, of course. It’s in the passage in 26. That’s if you’d like it.”

“Aren’t there rather a lot of people about?” hedged Roberta lamely. “I mean aunts and people.”

“Well, of course I could bring it here. I’m allowed. Shall I, Robin? Shall I bring my Hornby in here?”

“Yes, do.”

Mike ran to the door but there he hesitated. He looked rather a solemn, pale little boy. “I say,” he said, “as a matter of fact I think Uncle Gabriel’s pretty ghastly.”

“Do you?” said Roberta helplessly.

A tall figure in chauffeur’s uniform appeared in the passage behind Mike.

“Oh, hullo Giggle,” cried Mike.

“Beg pardon, Miss,” said Giggle. “Beg pardon, Master Michael, but I’ve got to go. There’s that coupling — I’ve got it fixed. His lordship’s in a hurry, so if you—”

“I’ll come with you, Giggle,” said Mike warmly.

They disappeared together. Roberta heard Mike’s eager voice die away. “Violet!” yelled the distant voice again. She heard the groan of the lift. Roberta waited.

The tick of the carriage-clock came up again. In a distant part of the flat a door banged. The lift groaned once more. Outside, far beneath the windows and reaching away for miles and miles, surged the ocean of sound which is the voice of London. People were talking, now, in the room next door: A low murmur of voices.

Roberta felt lonely and irresolute and, for the moment, isolated from the calamity that had befallen her friends. She felt that wherever she went she would be hideously in their way. Perhaps if she played trains with Mike it would be a help.

Mike was taking a long time. Roberta took a cigarette from a box on the sideboard and hunted about the room for matches. At last she found some. She lit her cigarette and leant over the window sill. She became aware of a new sound. It came up through her conscious thoughts, gaining definition and edge. It was a thin blade of sound, sharp and insistent. It grew louder. It was inside the building, an intermittent, horridly shrill noise that came closer. A hand closed round Roberta’s heart. Someone was screaming.

When Roberta realized that this intolerable sound was on the landing, close at hand, part of the flat itself, she was filled with a strange irresolution. Someone was screaming in the Lampreys’ flat and there didn’t seem to be anything for Roberta to do about it. She was unable to feel the correct impulses and run helpfully towards the source of these unpleasing noises. No doubt the Lampreys were doing that. Roberta, with a leaping heart, could only stand and wonder at her behaviour. While she still hung off on this queer point of social procedure, someone pounded down the passage. Without conscious volition Roberta followed. She was just in time to see Baskett’s coat-tails whisk round the corner. As she passed the drawing-room Henry ran through the hall from the landing. The screaming stopped suddenly like a train whistle.

“Frightfulness!” said Henry as he passed Roberta. “Robin, for God’s sake, get the kids out of it, will you? I’m for the telephone.”

Abruptly filled with initiative, Roberta ran through the hall to the landing.

All the other Lampreys were on the landing with Baskett, Nanny and Lady Wutherwood. They were gathered round the lift. Patch and Mike were on the outskirts of this little crowd. Charlot held Lady Wutherwood by the arms. Roberta knew now that it was Lady Wutherwood who had screamed. Lord Charles and one of the twins seemed to be inside the lift. Frid, sheet-white, stood just behind them with the other twin. When Lord Charles and the boys turned, Roberta saw that their faces were as white as Frid’s. They looked like people in a nightmare. From within the lift came a curious sound, as if somebody were gargling. It persisted. The Lampreys seemed to listen attentively to this noise. Nobody spoke for a moment and then Roberta heard Lord Charles whispering “No! No! No!

“Hullo,” said Mike, seeing her. “What’s happening to Uncle Gabriel?”

Patch took his hand. “Come along, Mike,” she said. “We’ll go into the dining-room.”

So Roberta did not have to give Henry’s message.

“Come on, Mike,” repeated Patch in a strange voice and dragged at Mike’s hand.

They moved away. Roberta was about to follow them when the group at the lift broke up. Roberta saw inside the lift. Lord Wutherwood was sitting in there. A ray of light from the roof of the lift-well had caught the side of his head. For the fraction of a second she had an impression that in his left eye he wore a glass with a wide dark ribbon that clung to the contours of his face. Then she saw that the thing she had mistaken for a glass was well out in front of his eye. Lord Charles moved aside and the interior of the lift became lighter. Roberta’s whole being-was flooded with an intolerable nausea. She heard her own voice whisper, hurriedly, “But it can’t — it can’t — it’s disgusting.” She could not drag her gaze off the figure in the lift. She felt as though her entire body strained away from the frozen pivot of her sight. His mouth and his right eye were wide open and inside his mouth the sound of gargling grew louder, and still Roberta could not move.

“Better out of that, m’lady,” said Nanny’s trembling voice. “Folks will be ringing for the lift. If Mr. Baskett and one of the twins got the top of the ironing trestle—”

Charlot said: “Yes. Will you, Baskett? And you, Colin, help him.”

The nearest twin went away with Baskett. Nanny followed them.

“Come away for a moment, Violet,” said Charlot. “Violet, come away.” Lady Wutherwood opened her mouth. “No!” said Charlot. She propelled Lady Wutherwood forward into the hall and saw Roberta.

“Robin, get some brandy. Top shelf in the pantry.”

Robin had not been in the pantry. On the way she saw a maid’s face looking palely out of a distant door. She found the pantry. Her brain worked frantically to push down, thrust out of mind, the picture of the figure in the lift. It must be repudiated, displaced, covered up. She must do things. How did one know which of these bottles was brandy? Cognac meant brandy. She took it with a glass to the drawing-room. Henry stood over the desk-telephone. “At once. Couldn’t be more urgent. Yes, to the head. Through his eye. I said his eye.” He put the receiver down. “Dr. Kantripp’s coming, Mummy.”