"One mustn't grumble though," I added philosophically. "After all, if it wasn't for the fog you wouldn't be here." We set out across the grass, and, just as we were approaching the verandah, I suddenly remembered that I had bolted the front door on the inside. I did not want to take Christine to the back entrance, for fear that she might catch sight of Bascomb digging the grave. It would be a gruesome discovery to run up against unexpectedly, especially for anyone whose nerves were already strained almost beyond the point of endurance. "If you don't mind waiting here a couple of seconds," I said, "I'll slip round and let you in. The place is locked up, and my man will probably be out in the garden." "I shall be all right," she said. "It was only the trees that made me fed a little creepy." Leaving her where she was, I hurried along the verandah, and turned off down the side walk which led past the kitchen window. Directly I got round the corner I heard the sound of Bascomb's spade, but it was not until I was within a few feet of him that his figure suddenly emerged from the mist. He was standing beside a large hole, peering forward in the direction of the path. "How are you getting on?" I asked, pulling up short. "It's pretty nigh finished," he answered slowly. "I've put 'im down deep, so as 'e can lie quiet without bein' shifted." I looked over into the grave, which was already partly filled in. "Well, there's no need to hurry," I said. "I've brought someone back with me, but we shan't want anything except a cup of tea, and I can get that myself." If he felt any curiosity about my guest he certainly did not show it. "Aye," he remarked indifferently. "You won't 'ave no trouble about that. The kettle's on the fire, an' there's a jug o' milk in the larder." He turned to his work again, and, resuming my way to the back of the house, I passed in through the kitchen. I took a strange delight in opening the front door and seeing Christine step in over the threshold. At that moment everything about her seemed to become real to me in a way that it had never been before. I had a sort of feeling that we had suddenly escaped from some fantastic melodrama, and were alone together in the actual world for the first time. She looked round, an almost childish pleasure in her brown eyes. "It's charming," she exclaimed. "It's the kind of room one would never want to go out of." "That's how it strikes me just at present," I said. "Come and sit down in front of the fire. You'll have time to get nice and dry while I make the tea." She crossed the room, and, sinking down with a little sigh of contentment in one of the easy chairs, stretched out her hands towards the hearth. For a second or two I stood watching her, too happy to move; then, wrenching my mind back to practical affairs, I started off unwillingly towards the kitchen.