At any rate, this was the room it was my business to set on fire with such completeness as might ensure the passing of Ughtred Gascoyne. It is the usual habit for those with a weakness for arson to empty paraffin oil over a quantity of furniture, and then set a light to it, a method of procedure that nearly always leads to detection. I remembered when thinking over my plans that Ughtred Gascoyne’s rooms were lighted by lamps and not by electric light. Would this help me in any way? It might. I already foresaw that my nerve and courage would be called into play in this enterprise far more than had hitherto been the case. October passed and some part of November, and nothing had been done, except that I had grown more and more friendly with Ughtred Gascoyne. He was very musical, and liked to hear me sing and play. Sometimes I made a point of meeting him late at night on his way home from the club, and went in and smoked a cigar with him. I could not help reflecting how very much those whom it was my unfortunate duty to remove seemed to like me. Perhaps it was a premonition that I was about to do them a good turn or what might prove to be so. His servant was usually in bed when I returned to his rooms with him at night. Both Catherine Goodsall and he were always talking of the time they would have me to stay with them at the little place they were taking in the country. “Quite small,” said Ughtred Gascoyne, “but altogether delightful, isn’t it, Catherine?” “You know, dear, I’m in love with it. I am looking forward to having a little vault in that dear old church with a stained glass window, to the memory of Ughtred and Catherine Gascoyne of this parish.” “I can’t say that that is a very cheerful way of looking forward.” “Well, it’s only when that happens that a woman can be said to have her husband to herself.” We laughed. It was really quite delightful to see how happy they meant to be, and after all if “man never is but always to be blest,” and the pleasure of all things is a question of the imagination and lies almost entirely in anticipation, they had had as much pleasure out of it as could be expected. I knew the time Ughtred Gascoyne usually went home, and my meetings with him, looked upon by him as accidental, were by no means so. November went by, and it was the first week in December, and, strangely enough in this perverse climate of ours, the weather was bitterly cold. It was the sort of weather for my purpose, for Ughtred Gascoyne was a great stickler for fresh air, and it was only in such weather as this that he was likely to shut his windows. He was turning into Bond Street one night when I passed him. I laughed as we met. “You won’t be allowed to stay out as late as this soon.” “No, penal servitude is upon me. Coming in?” We went up to his room, where there was a bright fire burning. “Now, this is comfortable. By the way, I met a cousin of mine to-day. He says you are in his office.”