"'One morning I saw him in Jermyn Street as he was turning into the Cavendish. On an impulse, a very sudden one, I called out his name, so that he swung round full at me, not in the least surprised. "If you go shouting _my_ name about Jermyn Street like that the police'll have you for making indecent noises. Now, if it was yours--" But I was in no mood for that stuff, and in a hurry, too. "'Look here, Antony, if a £1000 a year is any good to you, you can have it and welcome,' I said quickly. There wasn't time for tact--and he stared at me, with all the bluff dying out of his eyes, and a queer twisted little smile. "'That's very nice of you, old man, but--' he was saying--just keeping time until he could think what to say; and then, finding it, he tapped me suddenly on the shoulder. 'But I'll tell you what, Roger. When I want it I'll come for it--and between us we'll make hay with the whole lot. Now what could be fairer than that?' And, of course out came that same old laugh he tacked on to everything he said, rattling the passing taxis' windows and making people stare to see two top-hats pretty high from the ground shaking with laughter at each other; for I couldn't help but laugh after the long time since I had seen him, he seemed so monstrously comical.... "'And that was the last time I saw Antony until that night you and a draught let him into the house. But how were you to know, Iris dear? How were you to know when you married me that you were the last straw to his wretched fire, that the very fact of you so neatly fitted the last bit of coloured glass into the kaleidoscope of Poole Bros.? and that by letting him in that night, you and Sir Nigel between you, you gave him the kerosene with which to make a really efficient bonfire?...