Mr. West, Lady Tor and Eustace shared breakfast close to noon. Melting ice sliding down the casement windows of the dining hall transmuted the feeble sunlight, as if they lived within a waterfall.

“The gardener says he can’t bury Kipper,” Eustace said. “The ground is frozen solid.”

“The Billeting Office called,” Lady Tor said. “I wish the Captain hadn’t left. They’ve noted the vacancy, and another officer will come. They said they may have to take Steps.”

“Steps?” Mr. West wondered, cracking his egg. Such a stench emanated from it that he snatched it up and put it out the window.

“He even tried to thaw it with a blowtorch,” Eustace continued to whomever might be in range.

Lady Tor touched Mr. West’s sleeve. “Do you think that, if you spoke to the Captain, he might come back?”

A photograph of Percival fell from the wall with a smash.

“He had to put him in the garbage,” Eustace muttered. He wadded up his napkin and left.

“I shall speak to someone else first, and we’ll see,” said the exorcist.