Shadows of Ecstasy by Charles Williams — Read

Before Sir Bernard and Philip reached Colindale Square, peace had again filled the night. The raid, if raid it had been, seemed to have been driven off, although the house, when they reached it, was awake and vocal. Caithness was waiting for them in the library, anxious but not perturbed. He knew nothing more than they did, the guns had been sounding, at intervals and at a distance, for something under an hour, then they had ceased. The police had been hastily instructed to spread the news that all was clear, and (in less loud tones) that no damage whatever had been done. Materially this might be true, but not mentally. The agitation which shook London was as much worse than that which the German raids had caused as the fear of negro barbarism was more fundamental than that of the Prussian. London hid and trembled; the jungles were threatening it and the horrors that dwelled in them. It was but for a few minutes--less than an hour--but it had happened. The morning would perhaps increase the fear when it was uttered; for the moment darkness and separation made it private.

Caithness listened with profound attention to the account Sir Bernard gave him. But he showed a distant tendency to discuss it in language which, though hostile, was far too like Considine's to please his friend or reassure Philip. He seemed to find most difficulty in accepting the possibility of Considine's age--which, as Sir Bernard pointed out, was due to the fact that he disapproved of Considine's ideas. "If you thought he was a saint--your kind of saint--you'd think it might be a miracle," he complained. "You will fall back on the supernatural to explain the unusual. But that doesn't matter: the real problem is whether he's the High Executive."