The Captain chewed mournfully, swallowing with effort, before tasting the wine. He spluttered, and dashed the glass against the wall.

“Essen ist scheiße. Wein ist scheiße. You people do not know how to eat or drink. No wonder you could not fight a war.”

“On the contrary,” replied Lord Tor, “it is a very fine Bordeaux, at least equal to this excellent partridge. But I did warn you, Hauptmann, that you will taste nothing but vinegar and ashes while you persist beneath my roof. Percy will make sure of that.”

“Percy scheiß. I tire of your childish tricks.”

“Tricks? Do you deny there is a presence hostile to your intentions, inhabiting this house?”

“I do not doubt you have hostile intentions, and insist on playing futile games against us. It is only natural, between vanquished and victor.”

“You know that is not what I meant, Hauptmann.”

“You refer to your ‘ghost’? Mr West will see to him.”

“West? What could that jackanapes do?”

“He proposes to exorcise this house, Lord Tor. Once, and for all.”