“No, John, they won’t bother you.⁠ ⁠… I’m the man they’ll bother.⁠ ⁠… There’ll be an inquest, of course.⁠ ⁠… And I’m afraid you’ll have to give evidence, John⁠ ⁠… say what you said before, you know⁠ ⁠… say you lost it⁠ ⁠… about three weeks ago⁠ ⁠… that’s what I said⁠ ⁠… somebody must have picked it up.⁠ ⁠… I’m awfully sorry, John⁠—but it will be all right.⁠ ⁠…” Then, doubtfully, “Of course, John⁠ ⁠… if you’d rather⁠ ⁠… I’ll go at once and tell them the whole thing.⁠ ⁠… I hate the idea of you⁠ ⁠… but there’s Margery.⁠ ⁠… The doctor said⁠ ⁠… I don’t know what would happen.⁠ ⁠…”

John was roused at last. “Of course not, Stephen⁠ ⁠… you’re not to think of it⁠ ⁠… it’ll be all right, as you say.⁠ ⁠… Only⁠ ⁠… only⁠ ⁠…” with a strange fierceness, “I wish to God it had never happened.” And he looked at Stephen very straight and stern, almost comically stern.

“So do I,” said Stephen, with a heavy sigh. For the first time since the policeman left he had the old sense of guiltiness and gloom.