CHAPTER 20
THE DEVIL IN THE HOUSE‘If it wasn’t for old Harrison Gregory, damn me! I’d go up and sleep at the club,’ said Uncle William.
He was striding up and down the morning-room, his plump hands clasped behind his back, his short white hair standing on end and his moustache bristling.
The other two occupants of the room were also on their feet. Mr Campion leant against the mantelpiece so vague and ineffectual that he appeared to be hardly alive. Marcus stood by the window farthest away from the first, his chin sunk upon his breast, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. The unshaded bulbs in the brass water-lily calyx shed an unfriendly glare, and the whole house breathed an atmosphere of tension that was well-nigh unbearable. The door was closed, but even its thick wooden panels co
