Our reflections did not stir us from our chairs.
A young waiter came into the room, carrying a torch and with a tin hat in his hand.
He said: The shelter is in the basement, through the buttery door, sir.'
Howard said: 'Do we have to go there?'
'Not unless you wish to.'
I said: 'Are you going down there, Andrews?'
'No, sir.
I'm on duty, in case of incendiary bombs, and that.'
'Well,' I said, 'get on and do whatever you've got to do.
Then, when you've got a minute to spare, bring me a glass of Marsala.
But go and do your job first.'
Howard said: 'I think that's a very good idea.
You can bring me a glass of Marsala, too - between the incendiary bombs.
You'll find me sitting here.'
'Very good, sir.'
He went away, and we relaxed again.
It was about half-past ten.
The waiter had turned out all the lights except for the one reading-lamp behind our heads, so that we sat there in a little pool of soft yellow light in the great shadowy room.
Outside, the traffic noises, little enough in London at that time, were practically stilled.
A few police whistles shrilled in the distance and a car went by at a high speed; then silence closed down on the long length of Pall Mall, but for some gunfire in the distance.
Howard asked me: 'How long do you suppose we shall have to sit here?'
Till it's over, I suppose.
The last one went on for four hours.'
I paused, and then I said: 'Will anyone be anxious about you?'
He said, rather quickly: 'Oh, no.
I live alone, you see - in chambers.'
I nodded.
'My wife knows I'm here.
I thought of ringing her up, but it's not a very good thing to clutter up the lines during a raid.'
They ask you not to do that,' he said.
Presently Andrews brought the Marsala.
When he had gone away, Howard lifted up his glass and held it to the light.
Then he remarked: 'Well, there are less comfortable ways of passing a raid.'
I smiled. That's true enough.'
And then I turned my head.
'You said you were in France when all this started up.
Did you come in for many air raids there?'
He put his glass down, seven-eighths full.
'Not real raids.
There was some bombing and machine-gunning of the roads, but nothing very terrible.'
He spoke so quietly about it that it took a little time for me to realise what he had said.
But then I ventured:
'It was a bit optimistic to go to France for a quiet fishing holiday, in April of this year.'
'Well, I suppose it was,' he replied thoughtfully.
'But I wanted to go.'
He said he had been very restless, that he had suffered from an urge, an imperious need to get away and to go and do something different.
He was a little hesitant about his reasons for wanting to get away so badly, but then told me that he hadn't been able to get a job to do in the war.
They wouldn't have him in anything, I imagine because he was very nearly seventy years old.
When war broke out he tried at once to get into the Special Constabulary; with his knowledge of the Law it seemed to him that police duty would suit him best.
The police thought otherwise, having no use for constables of his age.