Twice he routed up George and myself to see if we were lying on his trousers. George got quite wild the second time.

‘What the thunder do you want your trousers for, in the middle of the night?’ he asked indignantly. ‘Why don’t you lie down and go to sleep?’

I found him in trouble the next time I awoke because he could not find his socks; and my last hazy remembrance is of being rolled over on my side, and of hearing Harris muttering something about its being an extraordinary thing where his umbrella could have got to.