His own intelligence was so clairvoyantly aroused at that moment, that he could recall later every flicker of the conflicting impulses that shot through him. The one that dominated the rest was a categorical certainty that some immediate drastic action was necessary. What he did was to take Jason by the shoulders and fling him backwards into an old beer-stained chair that stood unoccupied against the neighbouring wall. In the violence of this action an earthenware jug of water⁠—and Wolf had time to notice the mellow varnish of its surface⁠—fell with a crash upon the floor. There was a hush now throughout the room, and most of the company leaned excitedly forward. Jason himself, huddled limply in a great wooden chair, turned his devastated white face and lamentable eyes full upon his aggressor.

“I⁠ ⁠… I⁠ ⁠… I didn’t mean⁠ ⁠…” he gasped.

“It’s all right, Solent,” whispered Darnley, accepting a chair by Jason’s side, which its owner willingly vacated. “You couldn’t have done anything else.”