u? Very nice--very good!
You're in possession yourself, my lad, and I wish you joy of your job!"

He made for the door, hugging the wall with unnecessary caution, leaving
a bookcase tottering as an emblem of his respect. But at the door he
recovered both his courage and his humour.

"I always meant to give him a warm reception," he cried--"and by God
you're going to get one!"

He opened the door--made me a grotesque salute--and it was all that I
could do to keep a horrified face till he was gone. Never had I thought
him mad enough to leave me before he was obliged. Yet the front door
closed softly in its turn; now I was alone in the house, and could have
clapped my hands with joy. I plunged them into my pockets instead, took
out the small shot of my possessions, and fired them at the candles,
even to my watch. But my hand had shaken. I was balanced on one leg and
suffering torments from the other. The four flames burnt undimmed. Then
I stripped to the waist, made four bundles of coat and waistcoat, shirt
and vest. It was impossible to miss with these. As I flung the fourth,
darkness descended like a kiss from heaven--and a loud laugh broke
through the door.

Nettleton came creeping in along the wall, lit the candles one by one,
and said he was indebted to me for doing exactly what he thought I
would, and throwing away my own last means of meddling with his
arrangements!

I went mad myself. I turned for an appreciable time into the madder man
of the two; the railing and the raving were all on my side. They are
not the least horrible thing that I remember. But I got through that
stage, thank God! I like to think that one always must if there is time.
There was time, and to spare, in my case. And there were those four calm
candles waiting for me to behave myself, burning away as though they had
never been out, one almost down to the shavings now, all four in their
last half-inch, yet without another flicker between them of irresolution
or remorse, true ecclesiastical candles to the end!

I had spat at them till my mouth was like an ash-pit; but there they
burnt, corpse candles for the living who was worse than dead, mocking me
with their four charmed flames. But mockery was nothing to me now.
Nettleton had killed the nerve that mockery touches. When I shouted he
gave me leave to go on till I was black in the face; nobody would hear
me through the front of the house, and perhaps I remembered the heavy
shutters he had