Every night he went regularly to the Pound House and sat there waiting for his opportunity, never doubting but that he would get her when the time came. By the mere habit of his presence a sort of relationship was established between them, for Abner’s strength and his fairness pleased her, and she would sometimes pause for a moment in her business, standing close to him with a tray under her arm and one hand on her hip. The Gunner used to chaff her as she stood there. He had done enough lovemaking in his young days and now his only attitude towards women was one of jovial cynicism. No doubt the foreman thought that Susie stayed because she enjoyed his teasing; but Abner knew better. He knew it was himself, not Eve, that Susie was watching. Between them, unseen by the other, the air was charged with potential passion like the sky of a hot night, placid and slumberous yet ready to burst into lightning. He could laugh at Gunner Eve, this dry old man who vainly imagined that he was pleasing her fancy. She smiled at Eve, but all the time her smouldering eyes were fixed on Abner, and he knew that she heard nothing. Then Badger would come in and handle her as if he were her master. Abner did not even mind this, for he saw that she was beginning to treat the keeper as a habit and her eyes did not caress him secretly. He began to feel that he could afford to despise Badger, but he hated him none the less. In those days he saw little of George Malpas at the Pound House. Soon after Abner began to visit Mainstone regularly George had transferred his custom to an inn in Lesswardine. Abner did not ask him why he had done this, for to have done so might easily have compromised their friendship. If George preferred to spend his evenings away from his lodger’s eyes, well and good. On the other hand he did renew his travelling acquaintance with Mick Connor, who remained one of the best customers of the Pound House. Mick had always been a generous drinker. When he was in low water he was not ashamed of sponging on his pals, but in these days he seemed never to be short of money, and this, together with the glibness of his tongue, made him a popular figure in the alehouse. Abner wondered where the money came from, for Mick’s wages were the same as his own, and though he knew that the Irishman was a born gambler he could scarcely believe in the permanence of his friend’s luck. Quite by chance he discovered the source of Mick’s income. One Sunday morning he had walked down to the Pound House followed by the dog Spider when Mick fell in with him by the way. He surveyed Spider with a professional eye. ‘That’s a likely lookin’ dog,’ said Mick. ‘Ay, she’s all right,’ said Abner. ‘Give me a bitch every time for hunt’n . . . Ah, ye divil, get away wud you!’ Spider had suddenly become wildly interested in the Irishman’s person and was jumping up and smelling at the tails of his coat.