Oldham leaped the little hedge that separated the road from the fields and ran dripping into shelter of the veranda. In the gross darkness he could not see Case, and stood there, as he thought, alone, stripping off his mackintosh. Then, by the light of a fierce violet streamer in the clouds, he saw him. “Hullo, Case,” he said, “is that you?” Oldham moved towards him as he spoke, and by the next flash Case saw him close at hand, tall and slim, with handsome, boyish face. “You got my letter?” asked Oldham. “Yes, I got your letter.” Case paused a moment. “Do you expect me to congratulate you?” he asked. “No, I can’t say that I do. But I want to say something, and I hope you won’t find it offensive. Anyhow, it is quite sincere. I am most awfully sorry for you. And I can’t forget that we used to be the greatest friends. I hope you can remember that, too.” He sat down on the step that led into Case’s section of the bungalow, and in the darkness Case could hear Boxer making affectionate slobbering noises. That kindled a fresh point of jealous hatred in his mind; both dogs, who obeyed him as a master, adored Oldham as a friend. Hotly burned that hate, and he thought again of the closed bedroom door and the black pool on the blanket. Then he spoke slowly and carefully. “I quite remember it,” he said, “and it seems to me the most amazing thing in the world. I can recall it all, all my--my love for you, and the day when we settled into this bungalow together, and the joy of it. I recall, too, that you have taken from me everything you could lay hands on, money, the affection of the dogs even----” Oldham interrupted in sudden resentment at this injustice. “As regards money, I may remind you, since you have chosen to mention it, that I have not succeeded in taking any away from you,” he remarked. Case was not roused by this sarcasm; he could afford, knowing what he knew, to keep calm. “I am sorry for having kept you waiting so long,” he said. “But you may remember that you begged me to pay you at my convenience. It will be quite convenient to-morrow.” “My dear chap,” broke in Oldham again, “as if I would have mentioned it, if you hadn’t!” Case felt himself scarcely responsible for what he said; the tension of the storm, the infernal tattoo of the rain, the heat, the bellowing thunder, seemed to take demoniacal possession of him, driving before them the sanity of his soul. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mention it,” he said, “until you had sold my debt to some Jewish money-lender.” In the darkness he heard Oldham get up. “There is no use in our talking, if you talk like a madman,” he said.