"Will you tell us, if you don't mind," said Mr. Denniston, " what you were telling me as we came along?"
Jane told them about the dream of the corpse (if it was a corpse) in the dark place and how she had met the bearded man that morning in Market Street: and at once she was aware of having created intense interest.
Miss Ironwood opened a drawer and handed a photograph across to Jane and asked, "Do you recognise that?"
"Yes," said Jane in a low voice; " that is the man I dreamed of and the man I saw this morning in Edgestow."
It was a good photograph, and beneath it was the name Augustus Frost.
"In the second place," continued Miss Ironwood, "are you prepared to see the Director . . . now?"
"Well-yes, if you like."
"In that case, Camilla," said Miss Ironwood to Mrs. Denniston, "you had better go and tell him what we have just heard and find out if he is well enough to meet Mrs. Studdock."
The others rose and left the room.
"I have very little doubt," said Miss Ironwood, " that the Director will see you."
Jane said nothing.
"And at that interview," continued the other, " you will, I presume, be called upon to make a final decision."
Jane gave a little cough which had no other purpose than to dispel a certain air of unwelcome solemnity.
"And secondly," said Miss Ironwood, "I must ask you to remember that he is often in great pain."
"If Mr. Fisher-King is not well enough to see visitors ...," said Jane vaguely.
"You must excuse me," said Miss Ironwood, "for impressing these points upon you. I am the only doctor in our company, and am responsible -for protecting him as far as I can. If you will now come with me I will show you to the Blue Room."
She rose and held the door open for Jane. They passed out into the plain, narrow passage and thence up shallow steps into a large entrance hall whence a fine Georgian staircase led to the upper floors. On the first floor they found a little square place with white pillars where Camilla sat waiting for them. There was a door behind her.
"He will see her," she said to Miss Ironwood, getting up.
As Miss Ironwood raised her hand to knock on the door, Jane thought to herself, "Be careful. Don't get let in for anything. All these long passages and low voices will make a fool of you if you don't look out." Next moment she found herself going in. It was light-it seemed all windows. And it was warm-a fire blazed on the hearth. And blue was the prevailing colour. She was annoyed, and in a way ashamed, to see that Miss Ironwood was curtseying. "I won't," contended in Jane's mind with "I can't " : for she couldn't.
"This is the young lady, sir," said Miss Ironwood. Jane looked; and instantly her world was unmade. On a sofa before her, with one foot bandaged as if he had a wound, lay what appeared to be a boy, twenty years old.
On one of the long window-sills a tame jackdaw was walking up and down. Winter sunlight poured through the glass; apparently one was above the fog here. All the light in the room seemed to run towards the gold hair and the gold beard of the wounded man.
Of course he was not a boy-how could she have thought so? The fresh skin on his cheeks and hands had suggested the idea. But no boy could have so full a beard. And no boy could be so strong. It was manifest that the grip of those hands would be inescapable, and imagination suggested that those arms and shoulders could support the whole house. Miss Ironwood at her side struck her as a little old woman, shrivelled and pale-a thing you could have blown away.
Pain came and went in his face: sudden jabs of sickening pain. But as lightning goes through the darkness and the darkness closes up again and shows no trace, so the tranquillity of his countenance swallowed up each shock of torture. How could she have thought him young? Or old either ? It came over her that this face was of no age at all. She had, or so she had believed, disliked bearded faces except for old men. But that was because she had long since forgotten the imagined Arthur of her childhood -and the imagined Solomon too. Solomon . . . for the first time in many years the bright solar blend of king and lover and magician which hangs about that name stole back upon her mind. For the first time in all those years she tasted the word King itself with all its linked associations of battle, marriage, priesthood, mercy, and power. Next moment she was once more the ordinary social Jane, flushed and confused to find that she had been staring rudely (at least she hoped that rudeness would be the main impression) at a total stranger. But her world was unmade. Anything might happen now.
"Thank you, Grace," the man was saying. And the voice also seemed to be like sunlight and gold. "You must forgive me for not getting up, Mrs. Studdock," it said. "My foot is hurt."
And Jane heard her own voice saying, "Yes, sir," soft and chastened like Miss Ironwood's. She had meant to say, "Good morning, Mr. Fisher-King," in an easy tone. But her world was unmade: anything might happen now.
"Do you wish me to remain, sir?" said Miss Ironwood.
"No, Grace," said the Director, "I don't think you need stay. Thank you."
For a few minutes after Grace Ironwood had left them, Jane hardly took in what the Director was saying. It was not that her attention wandered: on the contrary, her attention was so fixed on him that it defeated itself.
"I-I beg your pardon," she said, wishing that she did not keep on turning red like a schoolgirl.
"I was saying," he answered, " that you have already done us the greatest service. We knew that one of the most dangerous attacks ever made upon the human race was coming very soon and in this island. We had an idea that Belbury might be connected with it. But we were not certain. That is why your information is so valuable. But in another way, it presents us with a difficulty. We had hoped you would be able to join us."
"Can I not, sir?" said Jane.
"It is difficult," said the Director, " you see, your husband is in Belbury."
Jane glanced up. It had been on the tip of her tongue to say "Do you mean that Mark is in any danger?"But she had realised that anxiety about Mark did not, in fact, make any part of the emotions she was feeling, and that to reply thus would be hypocrisy. It was a sort of scruple she had not often felt. "What do you mean?" she said.
"Why," said the Director, " it would be hard for the same person to be the wife of an official in the N.I.C.E. and also a member of my company."
"You mean you couldn't trust me?"
"I mean that, in the circumstances, you and I and your husband could not all be trusting one another."
Jane bit her lip in anger. Why should Mark and his affairs intrude themselves at such a moment ?
"I must do what I think right, mustn't I?" she said softly. "I mean-if Mark-if my husband-is on the wrong side, I can't let that make any difference to what I do. 'Can I?"
"You are thinking about what is right?" said the Director. Jane started, and flushed. She had not been thinking about that.
"Of course," said the Director, " things might come to such a point that you would be justified in coming here, even against his will, even secretly. It depends on how close the danger is-to us all, and to you personally."
"I thought the danger was right on top of us now . . ."
"That is the question," said the Director, with a smile. "I am not allowed to be too prudent. I am not allowed to use desperate remedies until desperate diseases are really apparent. It looks as if you will have to go back. You will, no doubt, be seeing your husband again fairly soon. I think you must make at least one effort to detach him from the N.I.C.E."
"But how can I, sir?" said Jane. "What have I to say to him. He'd think it all nonsense." As she said it she wondered, "Did that sound cunning?" then, "Was it cunning?"
"No," said the Director. "And you must not mention me nor the company at all. We have put our lives in your hands. You must simply ask him to leave Belbury. You must put it on your own wishes."
"Mark never takes any notice of what I say," answered Jane.
"Perhaps," said the Director, " you have never asked anything as you will be able to ask this. Do you not want to save him as well as yourself?"
Jane ignored this question. She began speaking rapidly. "Don't send me back," she said. "I am all alone at home, with terrible dreams. It isn't as if Mark and I saw much of one another at the best of times. I am so unhappy. He won't care whether I come here or not."