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won’t get it.’

      ‘Then, as I fancy the Americans say, it is just too bad about my creditors. I rather think the poor devils have banked on you, Gabriel.’

      ‘Insufferable impertinence!’ shouted Lord Wutherwood, and Roberta heard the angry sibilants whistle through his teeth. ‘Skulking behind my name, by God! Using my name as a screen for your dishonesty.’

      ‘I didn’t say so.’

      ‘You as good as said so,’ shouted Lord Wutherwood. ‘By God, this settles it.’

      The scene which had hitherto maintained the established atmosphere of drawing-room comedy, now blossomed agreeably into the more robust type of drama. The brothers set about abusing each other in good round terms and with each intemperate sally their phrases became more deeply coloured with the tincture of Victorian rodomontade. Incredible references to wills, entails, and family escutcheons were freely exchanged. Lord Charles was the first to falter and his brother’s peroration rang out clearly.

      ‘I refuse to discuss the matter any further. You can drag yourself and your fool of a wife and your precious brood through the bankruptcy court. If Deepacres wasn’t entailed I’d see that you never got a penny of Lamprey money. As it is –’

      ‘As it is you will no doubt re-write as much of your will as is not covered by the entail.’

      ‘I shall do so, certainly.’

      ‘You’re a delightful fellow, Gabriel! I wish to God I’d left you alone.’

      ‘You appear even to make a failure of the noble art of sponging.’

      This, as Roberta and the Lampreys afterwards agreed, was the climax. Lord Charles and his brother in unison began to speak and in a moment to shout. It was impossible to understand anything but the fact that they had both lost their tempers. This lasted for perhaps fifteen seconds and stopped so abruptly that Roberta thought of a radio knob turned off in the midst of a lively dialogue. So complete was the ensuing silence that she heard a far door open and footsteps cross the drawing-room carpet.

      Mike’s voice sounded clearly: ‘Uncle Gabriel, this is a little present from all of us with our love.’

      Roberta and the four Lampreys sat on the dining-room floor and gaped at each other. Next door all was silence. Lord Charles had merely said: ‘Michael, put that parcel down, will you, and come back later.’

      The brothers had moved away and their following remarks were inaudible. Then Lord Wutherwood had marched out of the room, not neglecting to slam the door. Lord Charles had said: ‘Run away, Mike, old man,’ and Mike had hopped audibly to the door. Everything was quiet. Lord Charles, only a few inches away, must be standing motionless. Roberta wondered if he still looked after his brother, if he was white like Frid and Henry, or scarlet like Patch and the twins. She wished with all her heart that he would make some movement and pictured him staring with an air of blank wretchedness at the door his brother had slammed. The silence was unendurable. It was broken at last by a step in the passage outside. The dining-room door-handle rattled and Henry walked across and turned the key. The door opened and Mike stood on the threshold. He looked doubtfully at his brothers and sisters. ‘I say, is anything up?’ he asked.

      ‘Not much,’ said Henry.

      ‘Well, any way, 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, hallo, 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.

       CHAPTER 6

       Catastrophe

      I

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