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Updated: May 3, 2025
Take Bunning, his cheeks flushed, his body shaking, his eyes flaming, for an example. Olva, dark, motionless in his shadow, watched it all and waited for his moment. He knew that it was coming. Grimly he addressed the Shadow, now close to his very heart. "I know you. You are urging me on. This night is your business. . . . But I am fighting you still! I am fighting you still!" The moment came.
I'm sure you'd get on." "Thanks very much, I'd like to come." Olva stood in the centre of the room, his hands clenched, his face white. He must have dropped the box in the wood. He had it on his walk, he had lit his pipe. . . . Of course they would find it. Here then was the end.
Olva knew also that nine-tenths of the undergraduates were present there for the same purpose. They wished to have their emotions played upon; they wished also to be reassured about life; they wished to confuse this dramatic emotion with a sincere desire for salvation. They wished, it is true, to be good, but they wished, a great deal more, to be dramatically stirred.
The man, still staring, white and frightened, sat down. Olva spoke slowly and very distinctly: "I'm glad you've come. I want to talk to you. I killed Carfax, you know." As he said the words he began slowly to come back to himself from the Other World to this one. How often, sleeping, waking, had he said those words! How often, aloud, in his room, with his door locked, had he almost shouted them!
The man's pluck had, in the first place, struck him, but now it seemed to him that they were, in some undefinable measure, linked together. As Olva watched him, half contemptuously, half sarcastically, he tried to pin his brain down to the actual, definite connection.
He had always seemed to Olva a perfectly ordinary person of natural good health and good temper, and now this quality that had descended upon him increased the fresh attention that he had already during these last two days demanded. For something beyond question the Carfax affair must be held responsible. It seemed now to be the only thing that could hold his mind.
By tomorrow morning there won't be one of these nonworkers' voting blocks left in Asgard, and by the end of the week they'll be cleaned up all over Odin. I have discovered a plot, and they're all involved in it." "Wait a moment." Paul got to his feet. "That reminds me; Harv Dorflay's hiding Rod and Olva out in the mountains. I wanted him out of here while things were happening.
He said this morning that he'd be here to-night and make up a four at Bridge. He went off to see an aunt or some one at Grantchester!" "Perhaps," said Bobby Galleon gravely, "he had an exeat and has gone up to town." "But he'd have said something sure. And the porter hasn't seen him. He would have been certain to know." Olva was never expected to talk much. His reserve was indeed rather popular.
It was the wrong moment for departure for they had drunk enough to make it desirable to drink more, but to escape from that white face of Craven's was the thing out into the air. At last Craven himself got up. "I must be off," he said heavily. "So must I," Olva said, coming forward from his corner. Craven flung him a frightened glance and then passed stumbling out of the door.
Bunning's voice quite rang out. His eyes now desperately sought Olva's face, as though he would find there something that would make the world less black. "I wasn't frightened -not then -that was the odd thing. The only thing I thought about was saving you -getting you out of it. I didn't see! I didn't see!" "And then -what did Craven say?" Olva asked quietly. "Craven said scarcely anything.
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