The evening was hot, the dancers thirsty, the drinks good. Alf observed his brother go to the bar once, twice, and again. Then he rose to go home, nodding to himself. Ern passed him in the dance and stopped. "What, Alf! You're off early!" "I got a bit of reading to do," answered Alf. "So long, then," said Ernie. "Shan't be long first myself." And he joined the current again, with flushed face and loquacious tongue. It was just ten when Alf entered the kitchen. His father had already retired to bed; his mother was sitting up. "You're late," she remarked sharply. "Where's Ern?" "Heard em say he was at the Rink," Alf answered sheepishly. Mrs. Caspar's face darkened. The Puritan in her rose in arms. "Dancing?" she asked. Alf feigned uneasiness. "I'll stay and let him in," he said. "He mayn't be back yet a bit." Mrs. Caspar took her candle. Regular as a machine, she rose always at six, and expected to be in bed by ten. Anything that disturbed her routine she resented, surly as an animal. "Let me know when he comes in," she said. "I'll speak to him. Keepin us up to all hours and disturbin dad's rest while he carries on. Might be a disorderly house." She left the room. Alf turned out the gas, and sat in the darkness, watching the dying fire, and waiting for his mouse. A crisis in his life had come. He was about to take the first big step along the road that was going to lead him to success or ruin. He was aware of it, and calm as a practised gambler. Once he rose and locked the front door to make sure his brother could not enter without his knowledge. It was eleven o'clock when he heard feet outside. Those feet told their own tale. Alf turned up the light in the passage and opened the door. His brother lolled against the side-wall like a mortally wounded man. "Take my arm, old chap," said Alf, and supported his brother into the kitchen. Ern sat down suddenly at the table. Alf lit the gas. The light fell on his brother's foolish face and clearly irritated him. He put up his hand to brush it away. "Arf a mo'," said Alf soothingly, skipped light-footed upstairs, and knocked at his mother's door. She was half-undressed, brushing her hair, her neck and shoulders bare in the moonlight. Alf glanced at them and even in that moment of excitement thought how beautiful they were. Mrs. Caspar raised a finger. Her husband was in bed and apparently asleep, Lady Blanche upon the mantelpiece staring vacantly at the form of her recumbent son. "Ern!" whispered Alf, and jerked his head significantly. "You'd best come." Anne Caspar slipped on a wrap. Candle in hand she descended the stairs and entered the kitchen. Alf followed stealthily. Like a gnome he stood in the shadow at the foot of the stairs, biting his nails uneasily, as he watched with lewd, malignant eyes. Ern sat at the table with the dreadful blind face of the living dead.