les to the wall; now he was looking as well as listening. And now I
was in his old place, now I was at his very elbow, eavesdropping myself
in my watch and ward over the other eavesdropper.

The big stick leant against the end of the wall, just between us, nearer
to my hand than his. The man himself leant hard against the pillar, the
crop grasped behind him in both hands, its lash dangling like the tail
of a monster rat. Those two clasped hands were the only part of him in
the moonlight, and I watched them as I would have watched his eyes if we
had been face to face. They were lean, distorted, twitching, itching
hands. The lash was wound round one of them; there might have been more
whipcord under the skin.

Meanwhile I too was listening perforce to the voices on the other side
of the wall. I thought one came from the stone stump where Mrs. Ricardo
had sat the other day, that she was sitting there again. The other voice
came from various places. And to me the picture of Uvo Delavoye,
tramping up and down in the moonlight as he talked, was as plain as
though there had been no old wall between us.

"I know you have a thin time of it. But so has he!"

That was almost the first thing I heard. It made an immediate difference
in my feeling towards the other eavesdropper. But I still watched his
hands.

"Sitting on top of a cricket pavilion," said the other voice, "all day
long!"

"It takes him out of himself. You must see that he is eating his heart
out, with this war still on, and fellows like Gillon bringing it home to
him every day."

"I don't see anything. He doesn't give me much chance. If it isn't
cricket at the Oval, it's billiards here at the George, night after
night until I'm sick to death of the whole thing."

"Are you sure he's there now?"

"Oh, goodness, yes! He made no bones about it."

I thought Uvo had stopped in his stride to ask the question. I knew
those hands clutched the hunting crop tighter at the answer. I saw the
knuckles whiten in the moonlight.

"Because we're taking a bit of a risk," resumed Uvo, finishing further
off than he began.

"Oh, no, we're not. Besides, what does it matter? I simply had to speak
to you--and you know what happened the other morning. Mornings are the
worst of all for people seeing you."

"But not for what they think of seeing you."

"Oh! what do I care what they think?" cried the wife of the man beside
me. "I'm far past that. It's you men who keep on thinkin