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of it. Of course it was cause and effect, but in the necessity
with which one follows the other lay all tragedy of life.
‘Oh, I’ d forgotten,’ said Lawson. ‘Just after you left he
sent round a present for you. I thought you’d be coming
back and I didn’t bother about it, and then I didn’t think it
worth sending on; but it’ll come over to London with the
rest of my things, and you can come to my studio one day
and fetch it away if you want it.’
‘You haven’t told me what it is yet.’
‘Oh, it’s only a ragged little bit of carpet. I shouldn’t think
it’s worth anything. I asked him one day what the devil he’d
sent the filthy thing for. He told me he’d seen it in a shop in
the Rue de Rennes and bought it for fifteen francs. It appears
to be a Persian rug. He said you’d asked him the meaning of
life and that was the answer. But he was very drunk.’
Philip laughed.
‘Oh yes, I know. I’ll take it. It was a favourite wheeze of
his. He said I must find out for myself, or else the answer
meant nothing.’

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