Valley’s reply seemed to come from the darkness that surrounded them, rather than from any localized spot. “If⁠ ⁠… you⁠ ⁠… must⁠ ⁠… know⁠ ⁠… I have⁠ ⁠… to pretend⁠ ⁠… that I was Urquhart⁠ ⁠… myself!”

Wolf made no comment upon this. He looked up at the poplars in that well-known garden. They were illuminated on one side by a faint glimmer coming from his old window, the window of the room where he spent his first night in Dorset.

“What a man-lover you are, Valley! My trick is to escape from humanity altogether.”

To his dismay the priest’s reply to this was a repetition of the same cackling laugh.