to fill up time. Both father and son were
as unhappy as men could very well be, and yet the ancient custom which
forbids the Anglo-Saxon race to talk about unpleasant things at
meal-times, prevented Sir Arthur from saying what he had to say, and
Vane from asking what he wanted to ask.

At last, when Koda came in and said that coffee was served in the Den
they got up, both of them feeling a certain sense of relief, although
both knew that the worst was yet to come.

When they got into the Den, Sir Arthur said to Koda in Urdu:

"The house is empty. There is no one here. The door is bolted. No one
must enter, till I say so."

He opened the door, spread the palms of his hands outwards, inclined his
head, and said in the same language: "Thou art obeyed, Huzur. It is
already done." Then he backed out of the door and shut it.

Sir Arthur got up out of his chair, turned the key in the lock, and said
to Vane in a tone whose calmness astonished him almost as much as the
words did:

"Vane, why did you drink that whiskey last night? You know I asked you
to have some, and you said that although you had never disobeyed me
before, if I had ordered you to have some you would not have done it.
And yet, after I had left the room you emptied the decanter. Why was
that?"

Vane had expected anything but this, for his father had spoken as
quietly as if he had been asking him about the most ordinary concern of
their daily life. He remembered dimly those few dreadful minutes after
the subtle aroma from the whiskey decanter had reached his nostrils, the
swift intoxication, the brilliant series of visions which had passed
before his eyes, and then the dead, black night which had fallen over
his senses, and after that nothing more until he had awakened with
parched mouth and burning brain, and Koda standing by his bedside.

"I'm afraid, dad, I was very drunk last night, but why, I don't know. I
was sober enough when I came in, you know that yourself. But somehow,
just when you had gone out of the room and told me to put the spirit
case away, I took up the whiskey decanter and smelt it. There seemed to
be some infernal influence in it which made me simply long to drink. I
did not want to in the ordinary way, and as I had been having brandy and
soda and champagne before, of course, whiskey was the very worst thing I
could possibly have drunk. Yet it seemed somehow to get hold of me. I
felt as though I _had_ to drink. It didn't matter what