‘It’s beautiful work,’ said Francis with great authority.
‘I’m more glad than I can say,’ said Jago to Luke. Nightingale had turned his head away and was looking down the hall.
‘When did you know you’d made a discovery?’ cried Jago.
‘I thought a week ago the wretched thing was coming out,’ said Luke, who used a different set of terms. ‘But I’ve thought so before a dozen bloody times. This time though I had a hunch that it was different. I’ve been pretty well living and feeding at the lab ever since. That was why I didn’t come to the meeting on Monday,’ he added affably to Despard-Smith, who gave a bleak nod.
‘The little powwow,’ Roy said to Despard-Smith, by way of explanation.
‘I could almost have sworn it was right that night. But I’ve been bitten by false bloody dawns too many times. I’ve not been to bed since. I wasn’t going to leave off until I knew the answer one way or the other.
‘It’s wonderful,’ he burst out in a voice that carried up and down the table, ‘when you’ve got a problem that is really coming out. It’s like making love — suddenly your unconscious takes control. And nothing can stop you. You know that you’re making old Mother Nature sit up and beg. And you say to her “I’ve got you, you old bitch.” You’ve got her just where you want her. Then to show there’s no ill-feeling, you give her an affectionate pinch on the bottom.’
He leaned back, exhausted, resplendent, cheerful beyond all expression. Getliffe grinned at him with friendly understanding, Jago laughed aloud. Roy Calvert gave me half a wink (for young Luke’s discretion had vanished in one colossal sweep) and took it upon himself to divert Despard-Smith’s attention.
In the combination room, Jago presented a bottle to mark ‘a notable discovery completed this day by the junior fellow’, as he announced for the formal toast. Hearing what was to happen, Nightingale rushed away before the health was drunk. Despard-Smith, who had his own kind of solemn formal courtesy, congratulated Luke and then settled down to the port. Luke took one of the largest cigars and smoked it over his glass, drowsy at last, his head humming with whirling blessedness. And Jago, with a gentle and paternal smile, did what I had never seen him do, and took a cigar himself. The two sat together, the square ruddy boy, happy as he might never be again, and the man whose face bore so much suffering. As each listened to the other, the tip of his cigar glowed. They were talking about the stars. It was thirty-six hours before the election.
Francis Getliffe and I left them together, and walked to the gate. I hesitated about asking him up to my rooms, and then did not.
‘That’s very pretty work of young Luke’s,’ he said.
‘I gathered as much from what you said.’
‘I doubt if you know how good it is,’ he said. He paused. ‘It’s better than anything I’ve done yet. Much better.’
He was so quixotic, so upright, so passionately ambitious: all I could do was pretend to be ironic.
‘It’s time we two had a bit of luck,’ I said. ‘These boys are running off with all the prizes. Look at Roy Calvert’s work by the side of mine. I may catch up if I outlive him twenty years.’
Francis smiled absently, and we stopped under the lantern.
‘I ought to say something else, Lewis.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I thought Jago showed up very well tonight. There’s more in him than I allowed for.’
‘It isn’t too late,’ I said very quickly. ‘If you vote for him—’
Francis shook his head.
‘No, I shouldn’t begin to think of altering my vote,’ he said. ‘I know I’m right.’
42: The Last Night
The day before the election, December 19th, passed with dragging slowness. Throughout the morning there was no news: only Roy visited me, and as we chatted we were waiting for the next chime of the clock: time stretched itself silently out between the quarters. It was not raining, but the clouds were a level dun. Before lunch we walked through the streets and Roy bought some more presents; afterwards he left me alone in my room.
There Brown joined me in the middle of the afternoon. It was a relief to see him, rather than go on trying to read. But there was something ominous in his first deliberate question.
‘I was wondering,’ he said, ‘whether you had Chrystal with you.’
‘I’ve not seen him since the meeting,’ I said.
‘I’ve not seen him,’ said Brown, ‘since he approached me afterwards in the sense that I’ve already given you my opinion of. But I thought it might not be unwise if I got into touch with him today. I’ve called round at his house, but they said that they thought he’d gone for a walk early this morning.’
I looked at the darkening window, against which the rain had begun to lash.
‘It seems an odd day to choose,’ I said.
‘I’ve tried his rooms,’ said Brown. ‘But it looks as though they had been empty all day.’
‘What is he doing?’
Brown shook his head.
‘I’m afraid that he’s in great distress of mind,’ he said.
It was for one reason alone that he was searching for Chrystaclass="underline" he might still be able to influence him: using all the pressure of their friendship, he might still be able to keep him to Jago. On that last day, Brown had no room for other thoughts. He knew as well as I did where Chrystal had been tending. But Brown was enough of a politician never to lose all hope until the end, even though it was forlorn. One could not be a politician without that kind of resilient hope. When Chrystal asked him to be a candidate, Brown had felt for a time it was all lost. But now he had got back into action again. Chrystal was undecided, Chrystal was walking about in ‘distress of mind’ — Brown was ready to throw in all his years of understanding of his friend, there was still a chance of forcing him to vote for Jago next morning.
‘I am rather anxious to see him before tonight,’ said Brown, looking at me with his acute peering glance.
‘If I see him,’ I said, ‘I’ll let you know.’
‘I should be very much obliged if you would,’ said Brown. ‘Of course, I can always catch him at his house late tonight.’
His manner was deliberately prosaic and comfortable. He was showing less outward sign of strain than any of us; when he was frayed inside, he slowed down his always measured speech, brought out the steady commonplaces like an armour, reduced all he could to the matter-of-fact.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I think I’d better be off to my rooms soon. I’ve still got some letters to write about the scholarships. Oh, there’s just one thing. I suppose you don’t happen to have talked to Jago today?’
I said that I had seen Jago in hall the night before.
‘How did you think he was?’
‘Hopeful. So hopeful that it frightened me.’
‘I know what you mean. I had an hour with him this morning. He was just the same. I tried to give him a little warning, but I couldn’t make any impression at all.’
‘If he doesn’t get in? — ’ I said.
‘If he doesn’t get in,’ said Brown steadily, ‘I don’t believe he’ll ever be the same man again.’
He frowned and said: ‘It’s annoying to think that, if we were certain Chrystal was going to be sensible, we should have a decent prospect of tomorrow turning out all right. It’s a tantalizing thought.’
Then he left me, and I went to have tea with Roy. I returned to my rooms through rain which had set in for the night, and I settled by the fire, not wanting to move until dinner time. But I had not been there half an hour when the door opened.
‘Good evening, Eliot,’ said Chrystal in his sharpest parade ground voice. He was wearing a mackintosh, but it was only slightly damp at the shoulders, and his shoes were clean. He had not been walking much that day.