* 
 
 The Case of Sir Edward Talbot
 
 THE CASE OF 
 SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 BY 
 
 VALENTINE GOLDIE 
 
 Author of "The Happy Garret," etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 
 
 681 Fifth Avenue
 
 Copyright, 1922, 
 BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
 
 The Case of Sir Edward Talbot 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 SEATED apart and unnoticed in the embrasure 
 of a window, the girl surveyed with a serene 
 expression of contentment the shouting assembly that 
 crowded the long drawing-room from end to end. At 
 the new arrival within the range of her vision of any 
 woman, her grave eyes studied dispassionately and 
 quickly every detail of her dress, subsequently return- 
 ing to the contemplation of a man who formed the 
 centre of a group almost immediately in front of her. 
 Admiration of his physical qualities could hardly 
 have been the cause of this recurrent attention, for 
 he was a smallish, quiet-looking person, by no means 
 in his first youth. Possibly a sense of sympathy 
 drew her to him ; for, except for herself, he was the 
 only guest in sight who had entirely preserved 
 mental and physical coolness. His associates di- 
 rected most of their remarks to him, with vehement 
 cries and gestures; and he replied softly, seriously 
 and with unvarying deliberation. The smooth, hair- 
 less face was one of the calmest imaginable ; the lips 
 gently smiling, the pale, luminous eyes alive with a 
 polite receptiveness, the whole expression admirably 
 
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 2 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 balanced and tolerant. From the demeanour of his 
 satellites one would have guessed him to be some- 
 thing of a notoriety, and the conjecture would have 
 been supported by the fact that he had a rather re- 
 markable skull. Its size was not the result of any 
 local exaggeration ; it was big and solid in every part, 
 with a slightly convex forehead ; a head which must 
 have inspired the highest admiration and respect for 
 its owner in any phrenologist. The pale chestnut hair 
 was cut as short as was consistent with admitting a 
 parting, and brushed smoothly. The ears were oddly, 
 even rather unpleasantly small, with a perfectly 
 straight upper edge. Had not the malformation oc- 
 curred in both, it might have been taken to be due 
 to an accident instead of to a congenital defect. The 
 jaw was firm, but not prominent, the skin fair and 
 the mouth well cut. There was nothing beautiful 
 nor even remarkable in the face, beyond its tran- 
 quillity. His general aspect was that of a man some- 
 where between forty and forty-five years of age. 
 
 It is scarcely possible to look at a person in one's 
 immediate neighbourhood for many seconds without 
 attracting his notice, and very shortly the 
 glances of the girl and the object of her scrutiny 
 met. Immediately she allowed her eyes to travel 
 slowly and composedly past him; but his remained 
 fixed, and when, after a while, she casually looked 
 back in his direction he was still watching her.
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 3 
 
 There was nothing impudent or challenging in his 
 stare, which spoke only of an awakened interest ; 
 nevertheless it was sufficiently pronounced to cause 
 one or two of his friends to follow its direction. The 
 girl slightly turned her head away and began to in- 
 terest herself in some newly arrived visitors; and 
 while she was so engaged the man left his compan- 
 ions and sauntered down the room, to return a few 
 minutes later in the wake of a portly, grey-haired 
 lady, picturesquely dressed in a loose robe of lace. 
 
 "Little Shirley!" cried the elderly woman in a full 
 rich voice which accorded with her dignified corpu- 
 lence. "Sitting all alone and neglected ! How very 
 pathetic! I'd no idea you'd come, even. Couldn't 
 you find me ?" 
 
 "I did speak to you when I arrived; and really 
 I've been quite happy sitting here watching the 
 people." 
 
 "My dear, I haven't the faintest recollection of 
 seeing you before, this evening. But there's such 
 a crowd, isn't there? One's head quite spins. Do 
 let me introduce Sir Edward Talbot to you; such 
 an interesting man — but of course you've heard all 
 about him. He's most anxious to know you. Sir 
 Edward, come here ! I want to introduce you to my 
 friend, Miss Cresswell ; and perhaps presently you'll 
 take her and give her an ice or something. . . . How 
 sweet of you to come, dear Clara ! I was so afraid
 
 4 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 that you might be too tired, after the theatre. Isi- 
 dore has been asking anxiously after you. Will you 
 come with me and find him ?" 
 
 She moved off majestically, and Sir Edward Tal- 
 bot, after bowing with affable dignity, took a seat 
 beside Shirley on the little sofa. 
 
 "I hope you'll forgive me for forcing my company 
 on you," he began in a pleasant, if rather expression- 
 less, voice. "But you looked so cool and restful, and 
 I soon get weary of strenuous warmth." 
 
 "There's been nothing to break my rest yet," she 
 explained, smiling. "I haven't seen anyone here I 
 know, so far, except Mrs. Cassilis." 
 
 "And she hasn't been looking after you properly ? 
 However, you appeared remarkably contented. I 
 hesitated about disturbing you." 
 
 His manner clearly shewed that the approach of 
 middle age had not robbed him of the pleasure to 
 be derived from the society of an attractive woman. 
 
 "Oh, no! I'm glad to talk, though up to now 
 I've been enjoying the clothes. That's my business 
 in life, you see. I design dresses." 
 
 "Mrs. Cassilis was telling me. For Delbruck of 
 South Molton Street, isn't it ? I offer you my com- 
 pliments. Several of the friends of whose company 
 I feel proudest get their things there. Shew me some 
 of your achievements here to-night." 
 
 "There's Mrs. Cassilis herself."
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 5 
 
 "Really ? That's quite a triumph. She looks de- 
 lightful, and I know that she has the most inno- 
 cently baroque taste. If she was left to herself she 
 would probably make herself as flamboyant and angry 
 in appearance as she has allowed this room of hers to 
 become. It must need great tact and courage to deal 
 with her in matters of adornment." 
 
 "I have to be obstinate now and then. But she's 
 so handsome and stately that it's pretty easy to make 
 a success of her. Some of the people who come to us 
 really fill me with despair. It's almost impossible 
 to think of any tolerable way of covering them, 
 they're so — " 
 
 "Amorphous ?" 
 
 "That wouldn't matter so much. !No, I mean they 
 haven't any shape ; nothing to suggest to one any line, 
 however fantastic. I should love to be able to refuse 
 a customer occasionally, when she's an extreme case. 
 But of course I'm not allowed to; and after all it's 
 very good for me to have to get over difficulties that 
 look impossible at first." 
 
 "I can imagine that it's a wearing profession — 
 art, rather. But most art is tolerably exasperating, 
 I'm told. May I ask why you took to it? Just 
 for the love of the thing?" 
 
 "Oh no ! Chiefly to make a living." 
 
 "In that case I congratulate you on having already 
 made such a position for yourself. Were you all
 
 6 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 alone in the world, then, when you set out on this 
 career ?" 
 
 There was a placid intimacy in his tone that 
 robbed his questions of the suspicion of mere prying, 
 and Shirley made no effort to discourage them. 
 
 "Not actually. My father was in India — he was 
 a soldier — and my mother died years and years ago. 
 I was twenty, and living with people who were paid 
 to look after me. They were quite nice, but it was 
 all very dull, and I was always hard up. So I tried 
 this, never really believing that anything would come 
 of it." 
 
 "I suppose you knew the people who run Del- 
 bruck's, did you ?" 
 
 "Delbruck's wasn't going in those days. But I 
 had a friend who kept a shop in Brompton Boad. 
 She admired the dresses that I used to make for 
 myself, and offered me a job. I was with her for 
 a year and a half. One of her customers was Em- 
 meline Brook — she and her sister are Delbruck's, you 
 know — and when she started her business she got me 
 to come to her. Of course, it was a great lift for 
 me; and my friend was awfully nice about it, and 
 urged me to accept. The Brooks had a Frenchwoman 
 then for their principal designer, but she had 
 a row with them after a year of it and went back 
 to Paris. So for the last three years I've had her 
 place." 
 
 "That's to say that you are now Delbruck's. You
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 7 
 
 ought to set up for yourself. I see no point in mak- 
 ing other people rich." 
 
 "But they're awfully kind, and they pay very 
 well." 
 
 "jSTo doubt. They're afraid of losing you and most 
 of their customers at the same time. In any case 
 they should take you into partnership ; but, if I were 
 you, I should stand alone." 
 
 "That means capital." 
 
 "I don't imagine that there'd be any difficulty in 
 finding that. So many rich people must know your 
 genius by this time." 
 
 "Genius sounds very important," she said, laugh- 
 ing. "Honestly, I should only make a mess of it, 
 I know. I've no idea of business. I'm more suited 
 for a hireling." 
 
 "Anybody can learn business, if they like. But if 
 it repels you, perhaps your father — " 
 
 "He's dead. He was killed two years ago." 
 
 A girl of seventeen or so, her yellow hair cut in 
 a short straight shock, her eyes and cheeks bright 
 with excitement, passed in conversation with a young 
 man, whose shoulders and complexion told of mili- 
 tary service. She nodded, smiling gaily, to the pair 
 on the sofa, and went on her way, glittering like a 
 Christmas-tree fairy in her dress of silver tissue. 
 Her escort looked back over his shoulder at Shirley, 
 and apparently made some inquiry about her of his 
 companion.
 
 8 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "And you've no relations left at all ? You live all 
 by yourself?" Sir Edward continued with a grave 
 sympathy. 
 
 "Yes. I've got a little flat in Wigmore Street. 
 On the whole, I'd rather be alone, unless, of course, 
 there was somebody I was really devoted to. . . ." 
 
 Talbot smiled. 
 
 "I suppose there will undoubtedly be someone be- 
 fore long." 
 
 "I dare say. Did you like Joyce Cassilis' dress ? 
 That's one of mine too." 
 
 "I thought that it was charming. Silver suits 
 her exactly." 
 
 "Most things suit her, with that wonderful skin 
 and colouring. She's very pretty, don't you think ?" 
 
 "Very ; and conceives herself to be even more than 
 that." 
 
 "Oh, but all pretty girls are a little vain, natur- 
 ally." 
 
 "Is that so ?" His intonation, at times, very 
 faintly suggested an American origin. "They don't 
 all display their vanity." 
 
 "That's only because they're sly." 
 
 "Don't be so self -depreciatory. It's morbid." 
 
 "I'm very fond of Joyce." 
 
 "In that case I regret suggesting that she had any 
 faults at all. I agree with you that she's an attrac- 
 tive and lively little person. I've know her since she 
 was fifteen ; but she's never really admitted me into
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 9 
 
 the inner circle of intimacy. I am not old enough 
 for that honour ; and I know now that I shall never 
 be." 
 
 "Surely she doesn't like old men ?" 
 
 "You don't quite follow me. She considers that 
 my mind is immaturely trivial. You must have 
 noticed that she even patronises her mother a good 
 deal; and she speaks of her three married sisters 
 with a pity that is akin to love." 
 
 "She doesn't patronise me, so I suppose I must 
 be old too," Shirley reflected with a smile. "But 
 she certainly is rather grown-up for her age. I'm 
 eight years older; but I never remember it when 
 we're together." 
 
 "I'm glad she's kind to you. She can be very 
 crushing when she likes. I speak from experience," 
 he answered, with a burlesque ruefulness. 
 
 There was a pause, during which Shirley's eyes 
 wandered over the company, returning to her com- 
 panion with a swift obedience as he spoke again. 
 
 "You will think me very intrusive, I'm afraid; 
 but there's a purpose in my question. It's not really 
 an impertinence. You have lost someone else lately, 
 besides your father ?" 
 
 "Yes," she admitted, in a slightly hushed tone. 
 "About the same time." 
 
 "Don't talk about it if it's distressing. Had you 
 been engaged long?" 
 
 The girl shook her head dumbly; and her eyes,
 
 10 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 after growing a trifle brighter, softened and darkened. 
 Sir Edward sighed quietly and looked away. 
 
 "I'm surprised that I haven't met you before, 
 either here or at Overbourne, as you're a friend of 
 the family," he resumed presently. 
 
 "Yes. I've been here pretty often lately, but I 
 haven't been asked to their country place yet." 
 
 "Have you known them long ?" 
 
 "Not more than a few months ; but they're so easy 
 to get on with that it seems much more than that. 
 You're an old friend of theirs, I suppose." 
 
 "I met them first two or three years ago, when 
 I came over to England with a business introduction 
 to old Isidore." 
 
 "Oh ?" She hesitated, as if feeling that it was 
 now her duty to ask a few questions, in return for 
 all those which she had answered. "Were you in 
 Prance, then?" 
 
 "No. I had been living for a good while in 
 America." 
 
 "Eeally ? I've always wanted to go to New York. 
 They have wonderful ideas of dressing there, haven't 
 they?" 
 
 "I believe so. I don't know the most fashionable 
 parts well. Much of my time was spent in South 
 Carolina . . . Charleston." 
 
 "Is that near New York ?" 
 
 "Not very." 
 
 "You are an American, aren't you ?"
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 11 
 
 "Dear me, no ! I was born in Worcester, and 
 educated in this country. But since those days I've 
 made my home in various parts of the world. I like 
 change." 
 
 Shirley seemed to reflect. 
 
 "You weren't at Oxford, I suppose ?" 
 
 "Why not ? Have I lost the famous manner ?" 
 
 "I don't know what it's like," she confessed. 
 
 "I must try and reproduce it for you, if I'm not 
 too much out of practice. Yes; I was there for 
 a short time. I didn't take a degree." 
 
 "What was your college?" she asked quickly and 
 gravely. 
 
 "Worcester." 
 
 There had been a perfectly noticeable pause before 
 he answered, which suggested strongly that he had 
 either been searching his memory — a manifest ab- 
 surdity — or stimulating his inventive faculty. Yet 
 he appeared too well-bred a man to believe that the 
 fact of having been in residence at a University con- 
 ferred upon one a distinction. Had there been the 
 least trace of boastful vulgarity in his demeanour, 
 an observer might have been excused for suspecting 
 that his undergraduate days were imaginary. Shir- 
 ley considered him with a certain eagerness. 
 
 "I suppose that was more than seven years ago ?" 
 she suggested, raising her eyebrows in delicate in- 
 terrogation. 
 
 "My dear Miss Cresswell! More than seventeen
 
 12 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 years ago, I'm afraid," he answered, with good-hu- 
 moured regret. "But why seven?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing! I went to Oxford for the boat 
 racing — Eights' Week, do they call it? — then; and 
 I was only wondering ... I don't remember Wor- 
 cester College. . . ." 
 
 She broke off again, and looked down at her hands, 
 turning a ring which she wore this way and that, 
 so that the diamonds with which it was set threw off 
 the light in little rainbow sprays. 
 
 "What was his college ?" asked Sir Edward casu- 
 ally. 
 
 "Trinity," answered Shirley; and then looked up 
 at him with startled eyes, as though the information 
 had been drawn from her against her intention. His 
 answering glance was both gentle and solemn. 
 
 "You've been through a tragedy. But half the 
 world has been through similar, or even more dread- 
 ful ones, in the last five years. Our hostess of to- 
 night lost her only son — her favourite child — in 
 nineteen fifteen. Hardly a household in England 
 escaped entirely." 
 
 "I know. I'm afraid that doesn't console me," she 
 replied, dropping her eyes once more; and added, 
 after a pause: "But I don't encourage myself, 
 really. As a rule I'm all right. I can't think how 
 we got on to the subject." 
 
 "You're all right," Sir Edward persisted, low- 
 ering his voice. "All right! What a lamentable
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 13 
 
 condition for anybody, especially for a beautiful 
 young artist !" 
 
 The words were uttered in the cool tone of one 
 who states a generally accepted fact. The girl's ex- 
 pression grew faintly uncomfortable, but she neither 
 spoke nor looked up. Sir Edward contemplated her 
 for some seconds with a speculative eye. 
 
 "You aren't one of those, I hope, who see any- 
 thing pious or altruistic or luxurious in keeping alive 
 the memory of a past sorrow ?" 
 
 "Not in the slightest degree. I know that . . . 
 that father, for instance, would want me to forget and 
 be cheerful. Only it isn't so easy. I mean, it isn't 
 easy to forget entirely, is it? One gets on well 
 enough for a time ; and then, if one's tired or bored 
 or anything, things come back." 
 
 "Nothing's easy, until you know how to do it; 
 and everything is, when you do. It's possible to 
 make your emotions, your subconsciousness — yes, and 
 your physical sensations, as they are called — as obe- 
 dient to your will as sheep-dogs are to the shepherd." 
 
 "People have told me that before, but I suppose 
 I haven't a strong enough will." 
 
 "Everybody's will is of the same strength." 
 
 "Oh, Sir Edward!" she protested, smiling again. 
 
 "Everybody's," he maintained. "Will-power is 
 a force that runs through the animal world continu- 
 ously and at unvarying intensity, as electricity may 
 run round a circuit. Suppose that circuit to pass
 
 14 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 through a thousand houses. One or two of the oc- 
 cupants, skilled electricians, might make the force 
 do nearly all the domestic work ; a larger number of 
 smatterers would contrive to get a certain amount 
 of light out of it, or a degree of warmth. The utterly 
 untrained would be able to put it to no use at 
 all; and the ignorantly rash would only succeed in 
 giving themselves painful shocks. You and I and 
 Mrs. Cassilis, let us say, have the same store of 
 will-power to draw upon; but experience has taught 
 her to use it better than you can, while I have con- 
 sciously trained myself to control it better than either 
 of you." 
 
 Shirley sighed a little. 
 
 "Well, I dare say I shall be cleverer at it in time. 
 Persistence is everything, isn't it?" 
 
 "Persistence is something, but not very much. If 
 you gave an intelligent savage a sewing machine, 
 without any explanation of its uses — forgive me for 
 heaping these analogies on you — persistence might 
 enable him to do something with it in a few years' 
 time. But it would save trouble to shew him, to 
 begin with, how the thing worked." 
 
 "You mean that you can teach people to forget, 
 when they want to; and feel what they like, and 
 all that?" 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 "Much depends on the person taught. The will, 
 as I said, is the same in all; but the intelligence
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 15 
 
 varies. I think that any one could acquire com- 
 plete control of the will, if he lived long enough; 
 but the better the brain, the sooner the thing's 
 done. The modern beauty specialists profess to be 
 able to give anyone the ideally perfect face; but, 
 you will agree, they would have a shorter job of 
 it with you than with me." 
 
 There were a few moments of silence, during 
 which Shirley studied his serenity with curiosity. 
 
 "Yes, you look as if you'd done it," she said, 
 with a note of envy in her voice. "Are you what 
 they call a Christian Scientist?" 
 
 "Mrs. Eddy belatedly got hold of a part of the 
 truth. She was a highly incompetent preacher, but 
 her basis (which is, as you know, immeasurably 
 old) was sound enough. Still, it was only a part. 
 There is an ethical Christian Science, as well, which 
 I should like to talk to you about some day; and 
 that, to be sure is only another part of the orderly 
 whole." 
 
 "I've no brains at all," Shirley warned him. 
 "These subjects puzzle me dreadfully. I couldn't 
 possibly recommend myself to you as a pupil." 
 
 "I'm not proposing to 'take up your character'; 
 I know enough of you already. You are different 
 — not in manner, of course. You haven't yet real- 
 ised the quality of your mind, which, if I may say 
 so, is unusually responsive." 
 
 "How can you possibly know ?" cried the girl in
 
 16 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 a sort of indignation, as if a reputation for stu- 
 pidity was dear to her. 
 
 "It is so. How do you know that I am clean- 
 shaven ? Or that you will cool your cheek by waving 
 those feathers backwards and forwards?" 
 
 "Mummy sent me to tell you that she wants 
 to introduce you to somebody before you go, Ed- 
 ward, but that on no account are you to desert Shir- 
 ley until you feel you've had enough of her," inter- 
 rupted Joyce Cassilis. She was standing alone be- 
 fore them, looking down on the pair with a gleam 
 of amusement in her eyes. She had a rather loud 
 voice, like a boy's, and a certain air of defiant jovial- 
 ity which associated oddly with her pronounced 
 femininity of appearance and her fairy dress. 
 "Mummy put it rather differently — I've forgotten 
 how, but that's what it came to. Shirley, do come 
 upstairs presently and have a talk. I want to tell 
 you something. Will you? Promise!" 
 
 "All right. When are you going up?" 
 
 "Directly. There's nobody left I want to speak 
 to, and I'm getting sleepy." 
 
 "I'm proud of your frock," said Shirley. "It's a 
 great success. Sir Edward approves too." 
 
 "Doesn't it look nice ? You were right about the 
 girdle, after all. Of course yours is much nicer; 
 but then you always keep the best ones for yourself, 
 naturally. I love you in black. . . . What shall I 
 tell Mummy, Edward?"
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 17 
 
 "Tell her, my child, that I will certainly come as 
 soon as Miss Cresswell dismisses me, and not be- 
 fore. You might add that I consider you an impu- 
 dent monkey, and recommend you for a diet of 
 bread and water. ... I grow hot and cold with 
 shame, at times," he continued, as Joyce departed, 
 with a smile of self-assured scorn of his last words, 
 "when I have permitted myself to address that young 
 woman playfully. One feels as if, in a moment of 
 forgetfulness, one had attempted to tickle an arch- 
 bishop. . . . Well, I suppose I shall have to set 
 you free in a minute or two, Miss Cresswell. That's 
 the worst of these parties, and the best. One mo- 
 mentarily tastes a number of new personalities, and 
 then the plate is snatched away, and a new course is 
 put on. There's a charm about it, but often it's a 
 very tantalizing one. To-night I've parted without 
 regret from a number of dishes, all in the wrong 
 order, too; grape-fruit, and trifle with too much jam 
 and too little sherry, and Roquefort cheese, and plain 
 roast beef; and now when at last I find one which 
 I confess I should like to linger over ... to what 
 dare I liken you?" 
 
 "Porridge?" suggested Shirley, after considera- 
 tion. 
 
 "How can you? However, I hope we shall meet 
 again. In fact, unless you decide to the contrary, 
 I shall see that we do. So prepare your excuses." 
 
 "But I should like it ! Why not ? I want to hear
 
 18 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 more about jour dodge for feeling just as you want 
 to feel." 
 
 "The dodge shall be explained up to any point 
 that you desire. Meanwhile — or in case you change 
 your mind, or are only being politely mendacious — 
 I should like to ask you this: Are you religious, 
 as they call it?" 
 
 The question produced its frequent effect. Shirley 
 looked highly startled and confused, and answered 
 with a shamefaced haste. 
 
 "I — well, I go to church, you know. Not always, 
 but. . . ." 
 
 "I quite understand. But at any rate you are 
 a Christian ?" 
 "Oh, yes!" 
 
 "And have you found that your belief consoles 
 you at all ?" 
 She hesitated. 
 
 "Yes, Of course, one feels that . . . well, every- 
 body's going to meet again some day, aren't they? 
 It's rather hard to remember, just when. . . ." 
 
 She broke off; and Sir Edward, having waited 
 politely and fruitlessly for the end of her explana- 
 tion, came to her rescue. 
 
 "In fact, it's never really consoled you the least 
 
 in the world. You believe these promises, just as 
 
 you believe that one day you yourself will die. You 
 
 know it is so, and you feel it's utterly impossible." 
 
 "Anyhow, it's rather a long way off, and one
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 19 
 
 can't quite imagine what it's going to be like, can 
 one?" 
 
 "I see that you don't accept the harp and crown 
 idea literally. May I take it that you're not one 
 of those who limit their beliefs to what they are 
 able to extract unaided from the Bible?" 
 
 "I don't really know," Shirley confessed, half 
 smiling, half apologetic. "I'm afraid I haven't 
 read the Bible since I was at school." 
 
 "The Bible," Sir Edward gravely informed her, 
 "is a great revelation. But it is only one of a 
 number of similar keys to the mysteries; and to 
 the uninitiated it is about as helpful as a German 
 cookery book would be to an Irish general servant. 
 No doubt, however, you have long realized that it 
 covers, under a most elaborately devised cloak of 
 words, some very awful and eternal truths." 
 
 "Yes. I suppose it does." 
 
 "You know that many have been brought to be- 
 lieve, by it and other writings, to say nothing of 
 spoken words, that the visible world, like the speech 
 of these prophecies themselves, is little more than 
 a splendid and sombre curtain, purple shot with 
 gold, behind which a vast stage is set for the unend- 
 ing drama of which only a few have yet been per- 
 mitted to catch an occasional glimpse." 
 
 His manner, during the last few minutes, had 
 changed from a rather formal friendliness to some- 
 thing that was almost enthusiasm of a restrained and
 
 20 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 majestic kind, and the girl looked at him uneasily. 
 
 "Oh, but I think that's such an uncomfortable 
 idea. Mrs. Cassilis believes in spiritualism. Is 
 that what you mean ?" 
 
 "Perhaps we may say that that's a little bit of 
 what I mean." 
 
 "But surely you don't believe in all those things 
 that go on in the dark, do you? Napoleon coming 
 to tell you how he's getting on, I mean; and the 
 furniture moving about; and knocks and bells, and 
 tambourines, and all that." 
 
 "The thing has got, for many reasons, largely 
 into the hands of vulgar or pedantic people, for 
 many years now. But because quacks advertise 
 electric belts, or furriers sell coats of Electric seal,' 
 we don't necessarily deny the existence of electricity, 
 do we?" 
 
 "I shouldn't tliirik so," said Shirley judicially. 
 
 "So what is commonly described as spiritualism; 
 so with the fortunes that gipsies tell, and the glass 
 balls which are common in upper rooms in Bond 
 Street, and many other things, some still partly be- 
 lieved, some wholly discredited, some just beginning 
 to come into their own. You have an open mind on 
 the subject, Miss Cresswell, I'm sure." 
 
 "I hate being frightened." 
 
 Sir Edward smiled humourously at her air of 
 distrustful appeal. 
 
 "You shan't be frightened. Fear comes from ig-
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 21 
 
 norance. To know is to put fear behind you. . . . 
 There is Mrs. Cassilis, looking at me in gentle re- 
 proach. I suppose I must go to her, although I'd 
 much rather stay where I am." 
 
 He rose from his place, bowed with rather more 
 ceremony than is usual in English drawing-rooms, 
 and crossed over to his hostess, who forthwith in- 
 troduced him to a young foreign woman of unbridled 
 hideousness, of whom, it may be supposed, Mrs. 
 Cassilis was glad to rid herself. Sir Edward, how- 
 ever, was clearly an admirer of other qualities in 
 woman besides physical beauty; for he was soon in 
 deep conversation with the ill-favoured exile, who, 
 rolling great eyes of dubious sanity, submerged him 
 in torrents of oddly pronounced French. After 
 watching the pair, with a faint smile on her lips, 
 for a few seconds, Shirley betook herself to an up- 
 per floor of the house, and passed twenty minutes 
 or so in confidential talk, of a romantic nature, with 
 her hostess' daughter in her pretty bedroom; at the 
 end of which time she discovered that it was late, 
 and that she should have gone home long ago. 
 
 As, gathering her cloak about her shoulders, she 
 passed through the entrance hall, in conversation with 
 a woman friend whom she had met on the stairs, 
 she perceived Sir Edward Talbot watching her. He 
 wore a dark overcoat, and carried a tall hat in one 
 hand ; and as she gave him a smile, he stepped for- 
 ward at once.
 
 22 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "Have you a carriage here, or will you allow 
 me to give you a lift home ?" 
 
 "Thank you so much," answered Shirley. "Mrs. 
 Spens is taking me." 
 
 She was passing on, with a word of farewell, when 
 he spoke again. 
 
 "I've made Mrs. Cassilis promise to give me 
 another opportunity of meeting you," he said, gaz- 
 ing earnestly at her. "If she asks you to Over- 
 hourne for a week-end, do accept, will you ?" 
 
 A faint tinge of pink crept into her cheek, but 
 she kept her eyes on his with a laughing frankness. 
 
 "I will if I can manage it, of course. Good 
 night !" 
 
 She stepped into the landaulette, in which her 
 friend awaited her, and Sir Edward watched it 
 thoughtfully as it fussed away ; its place at the kerb 
 being taken by a limousine of the most august size 
 and taciturnity, which seemed all too large and lux- 
 urious for the single, small, quiet man whom it 
 snatched away into the starry summer night.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE flagged garden at Overbourne was an ideal 
 retreat on such a day as this Saturday in late 
 June, when the sun ceaselessly veiled and unveiled its 
 face in a sky of tumbled blue and white, and the 
 south-easterly breeze rhythmically bent and relaxed 
 the tall poplars that bordered the carriage-drive. 
 High walls of impenetrably dense box shut in the 
 little square, pierced on two sides by deep arches, 
 from which paths wound into other and unseen mazes. 
 At one end a pergola, climbed upon by roses, offered 
 shade beneath which the small house-party was as- 
 sembled at tea; at the other a long narrow bed 
 was set with trim patterns of flowers. The flag- 
 stones, square and uniform in size, were of all 
 shades of yellow, grey and white, and between them 
 grew a thin piping of velvety moss, dark green for 
 the most part, but occasionally widening into a patch 
 of bright viridian. Behind the flower bed, in a niche 
 contrived in the thickness of the hedge, a marble copy 
 of Houdon's frileuse drew her drapery round those 
 portions of herself which, according to conventional 
 prejudice, least demanded it, with a mock modest air 
 of the prettiest indecency. In the middle of the 
 court a shallow stone basin had been sunk below 
 
 23
 
 24 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 the level of the ground. Two broad steps led down 
 to the water, which trembled ceaselessly, although al- 
 most imperceptibly, with the passage of the trick- 
 ling stream that kept it fresh, and with the move- 
 ments of little fishes. Water lilies, both white and 
 pink, lay becalmed on their dark rafts; and in the 
 glassy and dimpling surface were reflected the tops 
 of the high trees which grew beyond the confines 
 of the garden. Though these images were alive 
 with the wind, hardly a breath of air stirred be- 
 tween these quickset walls. 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis, her abundant grey hair concealed 
 beneath a shady hat, had fitted her generous figure 
 into a somewhat inadequate seat of basket work, 
 and her hands were busy with teapot and milk-jug. 
 Beside her, the slight form of Sir Edward Talbot was 
 almost invisible in an immensely deep arm-chair. 
 His flannel clad shins, neat brown shoes, and an oc- 
 casional plume of grey smoke arising from the 
 depths of his hiding-place were all that told of his 
 bodily presence. On a carved stone bench, the rig- 
 ours of which had been mitigated by a number of 
 gaudy cushions, a bald, pot-bellied, swarthy man 
 was smoking a cigar, his little feet crossed and 
 tidily tucked away beneath the seat ; and next to him 
 a thin girl, pale of skin and eyes, with startlingly red 
 hair and lips, lounged in smiling contentment. In 
 a little group apart, Joyce, her crocus head gay 
 in the strong sunlight, was chattering and laughing
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 25 
 
 to two young men, of whom one was the sunburnt 
 soldier who had been her squire at the evening party. 
 The other, a handsome fellow of seven or eight and 
 twenty, was plainly in bad health. His eyes were 
 too bright, fixed and anxious, the spot of colour in 
 his cheeks too vivid, his manner, when he spoke, 
 too hectic, his silences too frequent and abstracted. 
 There were signs too of slovenliness in his appear- 
 ance, although his clothes were new and admirably 
 cut. Joyce called him Gathorne, and the soldier 
 Billy; and the latter listened and responded to her 
 frivolities with a tell-tale indefatigability. 
 
 "Isidore," said Mrs. Cassilis to the bald man, 
 "ring the bell. They haven't brought a cup for 
 Shirley, and she may be here any moment. Oh, 
 it's by you, Magdalen, dear. Do you mind?" 
 
 The red-haired girl discovered the hanging bell- 
 push among the roses, and obeyed. 
 
 "Is that Shirley Cresswell ? I didn't know she 
 was coming," she drawled lazily. "I'm so glad. I 
 adore her. Do you know her, Edward? Isn't she 
 a darling?" 
 
 "Oh, Sir Edward knows her," Mrs. Cassilis in- 
 terrupted, with a significant smile. "We all do, 
 don't we?" 
 
 "I've only seen her," said Billy. 
 
 "That's all there is to do," suggested Gathorne. 
 
 "It isn't!" Joyce cried indignantly. "She's aw- 
 fully clever in lots of ways, and jolly nice."
 
 26 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "Beally?" Gathorne answered. "All the better. 
 I haven't got beyond seeing her, myself; but she's 
 quite worth seeing. Who is she, by the way ? Any 
 relation of the Whissendines ?" 
 
 "I don't really know; very likely," said Mrs. 
 Cassilis. "Her father was in command of his regi- 
 ment, I believe, when he was killed, poor fellow. 
 But he didn't leave her too well off, so the brave 
 little thing, without any sort of help, got employ- 
 ment as a dress designer at Delbruck's — indeed that's 
 how I met her ; and now she must be earning quite 
 a thousand a year. At twenty-five ! Isn't it splen- 
 did of her? Particularly as there's no necessity 
 for her to work at all ?" 
 
 "Wliat's the matter with her, then? Isn't she 
 all there ?" Billy wonderingly asked. 
 
 "Very much so," Joyce informed him in a crush- 
 ing manner. "She doesn't like scratching along oh 
 twopence a year. Nobody but an idiot would." 
 
 "But she could marry well, any time she liked. 
 That was what I meant," her mother explained. 
 "She's quite a beauty. Everybody who meets her 
 says so. I suppose she prefers to be independent; 
 and then she's devoted to her work. Sometimes, 
 too, I suspect that the poor child was in love with 
 some boy who got killed. . . ." 
 
 "Oh, I know she was," Magdalen yawned. "Geof- 
 frey Foulkes. ... Of course, that was nothing. 
 Everybody was in love with Geoff. I'm sure I
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 27 
 
 worshipped the ground beneath his feet — the only 
 man I ever met that I could stand. But he and 
 Shirley were engaged — " 
 
 "Actually? It was never given out, my dear, 
 was it ?" 
 
 "I don't think so. He told a few people; me, 
 among them. No doubt he saw that I had de- 
 signs on him myself, and thought it only gentle- 
 manly to warn me not to waste my youth in vain 
 endeavour. . . . Dear little Joyce, come and sit by 
 me," she broke off, catching the girl's hand as she 
 passed her, on the way from the tea-table with a 
 fresh supply of cake. 
 
 "Oh, do let me go!" cried the other, disengag- 
 ing herself testily. 
 
 "Was that the Foulkes who was brought down 
 somewhere near Douai ?" enquired Billy. "I knew 
 him. He was a good sort." 
 
 "That's the man. He painted, you know, and 
 was supposed to be going to do something at it." 
 
 "I have a couple of hith thingth," Mr. Cassilis 
 joined in swiftly, taking his cigar from his full 
 lips. "He wath very promithing; not many ideath, 
 but he could draw ; and drawing' th rarer than ideath, 
 jutht now." 
 
 "Dear me, yes!" his wife agreed. "A charming 
 boy ! He stayed with us once ; and his painting was 
 most distinguished." 
 
 "No, no !" maintained Mr. Cassilis irritably. 'Tie
 
 28 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 couldn't paint. Loth of men can paint. He could 
 draw." 
 
 "How sad!" ruminated Mrs. Cassilis, dropping 
 the art question. "She'd have been very well off, 
 if he'd lived to marry her ; he was a relation of the 
 banking Foulkes ; and here she is being exploited by 
 those odious Brook women, who've no notion of 
 dressing themselves, let alone anyone else. I won- 
 der she endures it." 
 
 "She told me she preferred a salary and commis- 
 sion job to taking any risks herself," said the voice 
 of the unseen Talbot. 
 
 "But I'm sure that's only because she's too dispir- 
 ited at present to bother about business. You must 
 console her with your wonderful philosophy, Sir 
 Edward. Or perhaps you'd rather console her other- 
 wise ?" 
 
 "I will buy her some chocolates, if you think 
 they'd be any use." 
 
 "Oh, you've no romance in you at all. It must 
 be by philosophy, then. Everybody tells me how 
 extraordinary you are. I wish you could think me 
 worthy of being one of your disciples." 
 
 Magdalen cast a stealthy look into the depths of 
 the chair, and her elaborately curved mouth smiled 
 faintly; while Gathorne tilted his dishevelled head 
 backwards, with closed eyes, against the wooden 
 frame of his deck-chair, as if wearied by the turn 
 of the conversation. Mr. Cassilis drummed the
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 29 
 
 dome of his waistcoat with his short fingers impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 "A disciple?" repeated Sir Edward in a tone of 
 amusement. "I talk a great deal of nonsense, I'm 
 afraid, to you and everyone else. No more than 
 that." 
 
 "No, no," insisted the lady. "You have some 
 new religion or system, whichever you call it. Rita 
 Salomon told me so distinctly. She's a great ad- 
 mirer of yours." 
 
 "We all have some sort of system, no doubt, if 
 we think of metaphysics at all. I must have ex- 
 plained a good deal of mine to you already in the 
 course of conversation. But I'm always ready for 
 fresh discussion." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "You're deceiving me because you see I'm un- 
 worthy. Isn't he, Magdalen? I'm sure you know 
 all about it." 
 
 "I should think he probably was," the girl re- 
 plied in careless amusement. "I'd never trust a 
 word he says. But he doesn't admit me into all his 
 secrets, either." 
 
 "Rita spoke of you as if you were a new prophet 
 — in quite a hushed voice. Truly she did. Ask 
 Joyce." 
 
 "Oh, Rita talks in a hushed voice about all her 
 men friends, Mummy," Joyce declared. 
 
 "And generally it's just as well," remarked Billy.
 
 30 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "'Not in your case, sir, of course," he hastened to 
 add to Sir Edward. 
 
 "You're quite right," Mr. Cassilis agreed, with 
 his hurried lisp. "I don't like that Thalomon girl; 
 never did. Never trutht Jewth — never. I wonder 
 you have her in the houthe, Adela. She'th hand 
 and glove with half the thcallywagth in London. If 
 it hadn't been for her, you'd never have got mixed 
 up in all thith thpiritualithtic nonthenthe . . ." 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis turned the gaze of a benignant ele- 
 phant on her husband, and was drawing herself up 
 to a reply, when a footman entered the flagged gar- 
 den, ushering Shirley. 
 
 She looked a trifle alarmed at the general uprisal 
 to greet her; bowed at Gathorne when introduced to 
 Captain Billy Lovat; denied all knowledge of hav- 
 ing met Gathorne Burrell before, subsequently re- 
 canting and blaming herself for her stupidity; ac- 
 cepted the formal kiss of Mrs. Cassilis dutifully, 
 and the impassioned one of Magdalen with an air 
 of startled surprise; smiled upon Sir Edward; and 
 then, losing her head, forgot to take any notice at all 
 of her host, and sought refuge beside Joyce, with an 
 expression of relief. 
 
 "We've all been discussing you, dear," Mrs. Cas- 
 silis told her in her fatly affectionate, if slightly 
 condescending, manner. "Your ears must have been 
 burning for the last quarter of an hour."
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 31 
 
 "Oh dear !" murmured Shirley. Her voice spoke 
 of a grave dismay. 
 
 "Miss Herbert — oh, of course, you know Mag- 
 dalen, don't you ? — has been saying such nice things 
 about you ; and Captain Lovat was most anxious to 
 make your acquaintance." 
 
 The soldier's brown face took on a deeper colour. 
 
 "By Jove ! Rather !" he cried, and proved his de- 
 light at the fulfilment of his ambition by turning his 
 shoulder to the new-comer, and devoting himself al- 
 most feverishly to Joyce. 
 
 Mr. Cassilis, who was on the other side of Shirley, 
 scarcely looked at her, and greeted her conversa- 
 tional efforts with the briefest words of agreement. 
 A furtive embarrassment showed itself in his averted 
 eyes and uneasy fingers, which he sought to alleviate 
 by talking loudly to his wife, from time to time, 
 across the intervening bodies of his guests. Shirley, 
 relapsing into silence, glanced at Magdalen, who re- 
 plied with a smile of sleepy amorousness; at Ga- 
 thorne, who appeared unaware of her notice; and 
 finally at Sir Edward Talbot, who had once more 
 sunk into the recesses of his deep chair. His lips 
 curved in polite recognition as their eyes met, but 
 he made no attempt to entertain her; and it could 
 hardly have been guessed that it was due to the re- 
 quest of this apathetic spectator that the girl had 
 been included in the party. His heavy white eye-
 
 32 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 lids drooped, and his body lay relaxed in luxurious 
 carelessness of his surroundings. The air of the lit- 
 tle, sunny enclosure grew drowsier. Only Joyce 
 and Billy continued to talk and laugh unbrokenly; 
 and the efforts of the girl to draw Shirley into a 
 three-handed conversation were consistently de- 
 feated by the determination of the young soldier to 
 address all his remarks exclusively to herself. Be- 
 fore long she rose to her feet. 
 
 "Would you like to have a look-round, Shir- 
 ley?" 
 
 "Yes, do, dear," Mrs. Cassilis said, "and tell us 
 if you approve of it. It's so delightful to have got 
 you here at last." 
 
 The suggestion of the words was that Shirley had, 
 till now, hard-heartedly declined to visit the house 
 and issue such directions for alterations and improve- 
 ments as seemed desirable to her superior taste. 
 Joyce lighted a cigarette from Billy's case, and 
 passed her hand through her friend's arm. 
 
 "Come along !" she said. "No, you stay where you 
 are, Billy. I want Miss Cresswell to myself." 
 
 And passing through one of the deep archways, the 
 two girls shortly emerged from the winding paths 
 of the box labyrinth on to the broad and velvety 
 lawn which lay beneath the southern windows of the 
 house. 
 
 Overbourne was a big, flat-faced, red-brick build- 
 ing, of no architectural beauty, but warm and
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 33 
 
 friendly in tone, and cosily wrapped in creepers. It 
 was raised above its surroundings upon a double ter- 
 race, balustraded with grey stone and set with large 
 craters in which red and yellow flowers flamed like 
 beacon fires. In the middle of the lawn a fountain 
 threw a waving scarf of sequinned gauze into the 
 wind and sunshine. There was a golden liveliness 
 in the air which came as a pleasant change after the 
 hushed warmth of the paved garden. 
 
 "What a lovely place !" said Shirley, standing still 
 to admire the scene, her skirts fluttering, and one 
 hand to her wide hat. Joyce paused at her side. 
 Although eight years younger than her companion, 
 she topped her by half a head, and the two made a 
 vivid contrast, the girl strongly built, upright, and 
 brilliantly coloured, the young woman small, slen- 
 der and delicate in tone. Their voices too were 
 widely dissimilar, Joyce's ringing out firmly in a 
 boyish alto, Shirley's dancing and sparkling in the 
 upper register. 
 
 "It's not bad, is it?" said Joyce. 
 
 "Bad ! I wish it was mine." 
 
 "You may have it, as far as I'm concerned. I 
 hate the country. There's nothing to do." 
 
 "But it's so pretty to look at." 
 
 "You can't go on looking at the same thing for 
 ever ; and it's never any different, except in the win- 
 ter, or when it rains ; and then it's beastly." 
 
 "Well, I think I'd rather live in London, as a
 
 34 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 general thing; but I should love to have a country 
 place like this to run down to when I felt rustic. 
 One can have nice people to stay. . . ." 
 
 "But they're just as nice in a town ; nicer, be- 
 cause they don't get bored and sleepy and stodgy." 
 
 "Does Captain Lovat get stodgy?" asked Shirley, 
 looking at the other with a smile. 
 
 "Billy's only been down two days," replied Joyce, 
 blushing brightly, but with an increased resolution 
 in her voice and eyes. "I love him at present, but 
 I dare say that in a few days he'd be as big a bore 
 as Gathorne or Edward." 
 
 "Are they bores?" 
 
 "Gathorne's awful here. I can't think why he 
 comes. Perhaps to get a good sleep. They say he 
 never goes to bed in London. Edward's a dud any- 
 where." 
 
 "Oh, I thought him rather attractive." 
 
 "Did you really ? Sorry !" 
 
 "Please don't apologise," said Shirley, laughing. 
 "I've only spoken to him that one evening at your 
 house ; and you saw he wasn't very excited at meet- 
 ing me again. He's an interesting looking man ; that 
 was all I meant." 
 
 "I know. Most people say that. I can't see the 
 attraction. He's got a face like a blank wall." 
 
 "I think that's partly the interest. One wonders 
 what's behind it."
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 35 
 
 "Probably nothing." 
 
 "Oh, there must be something, surely." 
 
 "Well, nothing to write to the papers about. Of 
 course silly asses like Magdalen and Rita say he's 
 so wonderful ; they've always got to be swooning over 
 somebody or something. But when you ask what 
 he's done, they can't tell you. No, I believe he just 
 lives on a sniffy manner." 
 
 Shirley shook her head. 
 
 "I'm sure he's clever, even if he doesn't do any- 
 thing out of the way. By the bye, what is he ? A 
 writer or something ?" 
 
 "Nothing nowadays, as far as I know. He must 
 be pretty rich; he's got two or three cars, and a 
 house in the country that he's just had built or al- 
 tered for himself, and a flat in Sackville Street. He 
 told me once that he was a speculator in his young 
 days." 
 
 "The Stock Exchange! That's the last thing I 
 should have taken him for." 
 
 "I don't know. I think he looks the part. He 
 lived in America, you know ; and Daddy knows lots 
 of those Wall Street men, and they're mostly like 
 that — clean-shaven and frightfully pleased with 
 themselves and dressed like boys and not saying much 
 except 'Sure' and 'Nope' and 'Gee' and that sort of 
 rot." 
 
 "But that's just it; he does. Last time we met,
 
 36 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 he talked a lot ; and all about things which I should 
 never have thought stockbrokers bothered themselves 
 with; religion, and so on." 
 
 "I suppose he. caught that from living among 
 American millionaires. They're all very religious, 
 Daddy says. Haven't you heard about James G. 
 Stoniman, and that old Irishman who's got a castle 
 in Galway about the size of the Crystal Palace, and 
 is building Roman Catholic churches anywhere 
 they'll let him, so as to get rid of all his money before 
 he dies, for fear his sons might get hold of some of 
 it afterwards ? But I must say I didn't suspect Ed- 
 ward of being religious. When he first knew us, he 
 was always asking me to things, and paying rotten 
 compliments, and holding my hand when we were 
 alone together. I couldn't stand it ; so now he hardly 
 speaks to me, except to say 'Run and play, child,' and 
 infuriating things of that sort. I expect he'll begin 
 holding your hand before long." 
 
 The two companions were walking slowly up and 
 down the long stretch of shaven turf as they talked ; 
 and each time they passed the fountain the wind 
 threw a few drops of fine spray against their faces. 
 Swallows were wheeling in swift circles about them. 
 Shirley made no reply to her friend's last anticipa- 
 tory remark; and Joyce, after looking at her side- 
 ways, put her hand through her arm again. 
 
 "Do you know I never knew until to-day that you 
 were engaged to Geoffrey Foulkes? He used to
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 37 
 
 come and see us sometimes. He seemed awfully 
 nice. 
 
 She waited for an answer, but, seeing that Shirley 
 only nodded vacantly, she squeezed her arm and let 
 it go. 
 
 "Poor old Shirley," she said briefly, and added, 
 after a pause, "I don't suppose Edward meant to 
 be anything more than fatherly, but I hate father- 
 liness, don't you? ]STo father ever goes on like 
 that." 
 
 "Judging by his manner to-day, I should imagine 
 that he hasn't the slightest intention of adopting 
 me." 
 
 "I shouldn't worry. His friends are rather a 
 scratch lot; except Mummy, of course; but she's 
 friends with everybody. There's Gathorne, about as 
 cheery as Good Friday in Aberdeen; and a whole 
 tribe of women, like Rita Salomon, in sage-green jib- 
 bahs, with dirty silver rings on their thumbs, and 
 their heads tied up in dish-cloths, and strings of 
 brickbats round necks like a plucked chicken's ; and 
 Basil Jacinth — his real name's Bumpus — who's mad, 
 and sits in corners saying nothing, with long hair 
 combed down to join a loathsome soft beard; and 
 that disgusting old E. D. Lewis, who shaves his 
 forehead to make himself like Shakespeare, and 
 writes the sort of books that people wrap up in brown 
 paper if they want to read them in public ; and Mag- 
 dalen — I don't know; I always feel she's hiding
 
 38 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 something nasty. But she does dress decently, at 
 least. So does Edward. But most of the gang look 
 as if they'd been acting an historical pageant in the 
 rectory garden, for the organ fund, and got caught 
 in the rain." 
 
 "Sir Edward looks so sensible himself. Why does 
 he like people of that kind ?" 
 
 "Probably he enjoys being worshipped ; and only 
 that sort of idiots will do it. If you really want to 
 keep in with him, you'll have to worship too." 
 
 "I couldn't really. I'm far too prosaic. And I 
 should get the sack if I turned up at South Molton 
 Street in a jibbah. But I don't think you're quite 
 fair about him, Joyce. He wasn't the least bit god- 
 like or condescending to me." 
 
 "Well, you wait and see ... I say, shall I take 
 you and shew you the orchid house ? We shall have 
 to be dressing for dinner before very long." 
 
 At table that night Shirley found herself placed 
 next to Sir Edward. He was serenely polite, in- 
 clining his head in silent acquiescence to most of her 
 remarks, and leaving the choice of subjects wholly 
 to her. The effect he produced was that of a cour- 
 teous foreigner, imperfectly understanding the words 
 addressed to him and capable of only the simplest 
 replies. After a little of this collar-work, Shirley 
 turned her attention to her other neighbour, Gathorne 
 Burrell, who, stimulated by a good deal of cham- 
 pagne, was highly conversational in a vain and in-
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 39 
 
 tolerant manner which soon reduced the girl to a 
 resentful subjection. 
 
 It was not until the following morning that the 
 ex-speculator emerged from his cool reserve. The 
 bell of the parish church was sending its cracked 
 summons across the sunny meadows, and the mem- 
 bers of the party at Overbourne were ignoring it in 
 their various ways. Mrs. Cassilis, seated beside the 
 tennis court in a beehive chair, was reading "The 
 Pretty Lady," while Joyce and Billy were knock- 
 ing the balls up aimlessly, having failed to induce 
 anyone else to play, and being quite unsuitable op- 
 ponents for a single. Gathorne, pleading neuralgia, 
 was still abed; Magdalen, declaring that she could 
 only do herself justice with her own racket and shoes, 
 which she had forgotten to bring, was smoking con- 
 tentedly indoors. Shirley, quite willing to join 
 them, was as indifferent a performer as Joyce; and 
 neither girl was disposed to match herself against 
 Billy unless she had a reasonably good partner. 
 Mr. Cassilis was doing nothing — his usual occupa- 
 tion when not engaged in money-making. He would 
 sit for hours, his feet tucked primly under his chair, 
 his hands folded on his stomach, motionless and un- 
 vocal, except when he cleared his throat in an ugly 
 manner. As for Sir Edward, he had missed break- 
 fast, and only emerged, dressed in snowy flannel, at 
 eleven o'clock, when he immediately appropriated 
 Shirley for his own entertainment.
 
 40 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "Tennis ?" he replied to Joyce's suggestion. "Cer- 
 tainly not. I don't approve of games on Sunday." 
 
 "Don't be suck an idiot!" she irritably begged 
 him. "What possible harm can they do ?" 
 
 "]STone whatever," he agreed with perfect amiabil- 
 ity. "Indeed we may say that physically, if over- 
 strain is avoided, they do good, no doubt. Come 
 along, Miss Cresswell. I cannot believe that you 
 are set on getting hot and dishevelled ; and I must 
 have company. Lovat, you can look after the child, 
 and keep it in order." 
 
 And uncheered by any answering smile from 
 Joyce, he led his captive away towards the laby- 
 rinth of cut hedges that surrounded the Dutch gar- 
 den. 
 
 "You must pardon me for carrying you off from 
 your friends," he told her, considering her gravely. 
 "I haven't had a word with you, beyond the baldest 
 formalities, since you arrived; and I only consented 
 to come here at all on the understanding that I should 
 meet you." 
 
 "But that wasn't my fault, really. I tried to talk 
 to you." 
 
 "Yes ... I was interested, for a time, in watch- 
 ing how you hit it off with Gathorne Burrell. Ga- 
 thorne has many faults of manner ; I have told him 
 so often ; and you are almost excessively considerate 
 of the feelings of others. I fancy that your tempera- 
 ments are too remote to make for friendship. His
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 41 
 
 attitude of superiority amused me a good deal. I 
 hadn't supposed him to be so blind." 
 
 "How do you mean?" 
 
 Sir Edward covered her with his cool, bland smile. 
 
 "Why am I talking to you ?" 
 
 "I can't imagine." 
 
 "That's insincere. You think it is because vou 
 are a beautiful girl, with a genius for adorning beau- 
 ty. Well, you are partly right. There's no need 
 to be embarrassed by the confession of a man so very 
 much older than yourself that he finds in you, on this 
 sunny morning and in this delightful garden, all the 
 appeal of the lilies and pale roses that surround us 
 — enchanting and pathetically fragile. But that's 
 not all; indeed it's the smallest part of it. To my 
 mind, there are other and stronger attractions in 
 you." 
 
 •Shirley, who had looked supremely ill at ease, 
 during the exhibition of these late-Victorian compli- 
 ments, made an obvious effort to treat the matter 
 with appropriate frivolity. 
 
 "Please go on ! I love feeling conceited." 
 
 "Well, for one thing, you are not grown up." 
 
 "I'm ashamed to say I'm twenty-five ; but I know 
 I'm stupid for my age. Are you fond of children ?" 
 
 "That depends. I like children who are not 
 grown up; and you are wrong in thinking that I 
 describe you as immature because you are stupid. 
 It is, in fact, exactly for the contrary reason."
 
 42 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "I don't understand." 
 
 "Shall we take this path?" he asked, pausing at 
 one of the entrances to the box-maze. "There's 
 rather an interesting thing- that I want you to 
 see. . . . Let me explain a little. You are not 
 grown up at twenty-five, and you are therefore not 
 stupid. But Mrs. Cassilis at fifty, and her husband 
 at something more, and Captain Lovat at about your 
 own age, and Joyce at seventeen are all thoroughly 
 mature and, according to my standards, irredeemably 
 stupid. You see, then, that it's natural for me to 
 seek your society while I am down here." 
 
 "How about Miss Herbert and Mr. Burrell ?" 
 
 "They are neither entirely children nor altogether 
 stupid, which happens at times. But I know them 
 too well. There is no sense of adventure in talking 
 to them. . . . Stupidity, you see, Miss Cresswell, is 
 a sort of disease-germ. It is not the absence of wis- 
 dom, as darkness is the absence of light, but an op- 
 posing force. It is positive, not negative. We are 
 born wise, but the microbe of stupidity is in all of 
 us, waiting to be cultivated or destroyed — or, at 
 least, scotched. If you could get any baby born into 
 the world to speak to you before stultifying influ- 
 ences have got to work on its congenital wisdom, you 
 would find it perfectly wise." 
 
 "But surely experience — " interrupted Shirley, 
 with a face of incredulity. 
 
 "Experience is not wisdom. So far from being a
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 43 
 
 paradox, the phrase 'Out of the mouths of babes and 
 sucklings' is the purest statement of fact. Wisdom, 
 like will-force, is a natural and universal gift; the 
 power to judge, reason and discriminate. By ex- 
 perience one may learn to use the power — no more 
 than that. Yet you see people with every form of 
 experience growing daily stupider and stupider ; one 
 may say it is almost a general rule. They have 
 cultivated their stupidity to a point where experi- 
 ence is not only useless but actually pernicious. 
 They misapply it in every action and every thought. 
 Taken in time, all human creatures could be saved 
 from this creeping sickness ; but the swiftness of its 
 advance depends on surrounding influences, and 
 many are past cure before they have learned to artic- 
 ulate. That, perhaps, is just as well. A world 
 populated by wholly wise men and women might turn 
 out to be a dull spot, after all." 
 
 "Then you mean," cried Shirley, her eyes and lips 
 undisguisedly amused, "that if you were given charge 
 of all the newly born babies you could make them all 
 clever." 
 
 "Exactly. What a picture it presents to the mind ! 
 But . . . exactly!" 
 
 "And you still think there's hope for me?" 
 
 "I think so," he replied, shaking his head at her, 
 with a smile of reproach, "although I am not sure 
 that you have not over-fostered a sense of derision, 
 which is not a part of wisdom, you know. But take
 
 44 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 Joyce, now. When I saw her first she was fifteen, 
 or a little less, I believe ; like yourself, physically in- 
 teresting, and still capable, so it seemed to me, of 
 learning rightly. I was mistaken. I was too late. 
 Before I finally decided this, I had patiently borne 
 a great deal of the society of her extremely kind and 
 hospitable relations — people who, otherwise, I should 
 scarcely have pursued. In sheer politeness, I am 
 compelled to frequent them still, at times; even 
 though I gave up all hope of the child a good while 
 ago. She is old — oh, so old ! Will you believe that 
 the only idea that she got (at fifteen!) of my efforts 
 to draw her out of the ruck of the dull was that I was 
 attempting to make love to her? ... So I may be 
 mistaken in you; but I am of a sanguine nature. 
 Would you care to become the object of an experi- 
 ment ?" 
 
 "Honestly," Shirley protested, after some hesita- 
 tion, "you're quite wrong in thinking me the least 
 bit clever. I really know nothing at all, except how 
 to make dresses." 
 
 "I have told you that that is all to the good. 
 There is the old simile of the clean slate. But the 
 mind, unfortunately, is neither a slate nor a wax tab- 
 let. It is a granite block, on which the lettering is 
 cut to an indelible depth. By degrees it becomes 
 filled from top to bottom and side to side, and there's 
 an end. Now there is still plenty of space left in 
 your mind."
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 45 
 
 "Plenty. It's nearly all space." 
 
 "Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of. It's hardly 
 an advantage, surely, to work at high speed, and 
 over-time, to cover the whole surface with false and 
 vulgar inscriptions, like a grocer's grave-stone. 
 Will you accept advice about its decoration ?" 
 
 The girl was silent for a few moments. 
 
 "When we were talking about will — the last time 
 we met, you know," she reminded him, "you told me 
 that intellects varied. Now you say we're all born 
 equally wise." 
 
 "Quite so. Intellect varies; and intellect is only 
 a loose form of expression to describe the power, 
 which may be acquired from experience or surround- 
 ing influences or both, of employing one's natural 
 wisdom. Some force has already increased this 
 power in you, while, at the same time, your innate 
 germ of stupidity is still latent. But look at the 
 Cassilis' ! Content and convinced in their fostered 
 blindness ! What could one hope to do with them ?" 
 
 As he ceased speaking, the winding path along 
 which they had been slowly sauntering emerged in- 
 to an enclosure at the end of the labyrinth most re- 
 mote from the house. 
 
 "This is the place I wanted to shew you," said Sir 
 Edward. "Shall we rest here for a little? Or are 
 you bored with my chatter ?"
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THEY found themselves in a mere circle of turf, 
 hidden by its dark walls from everything with- 
 out, except the immaculate blue of the sky. A rough 
 wooden seat was placed close under the hedge, and 
 in the middle of the grass a term of grey stone, sur- 
 mounted by a placid and bearded head, formed the 
 genius of the place. Sir Edward halted in front of 
 this battered image, his hands in his pockets, and 
 contemplated it thoughtfully. 
 
 "You hadn't seen him before ?" he asked. 
 
 "No. Who is he? Homer?" 
 
 "I should say not. He appears to be Silvanus. 
 Once upon a time, long ago, he was erected over the 
 bones of a sacrifice, and with proper ceremonies, on 
 the outskirts of some Roman garden, and hung with 
 garlands. He was an important member of that 
 vanished household, Miss Cresswell ; and fulfilled, 
 with greater effectiveness probably, the duties of our 
 'trespassers will be prosecuted' boards." 
 
 "Then he's really Roman?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly. He was once my guest, and will 
 shortly be again ; for lately I have prepared a coun- 
 try home for myself. Meanwhile I had, for a time, 
 
 46
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 47 
 
 no suitable place to put him. The first time I visited 
 this house, I said, when I wandered by chance into 
 this grove: 'Here is the very shrine for which I 
 have been looking for my friend.' So I offered to 
 lend him to Mr. Cassilis for a while; and you will 
 see from his benignant expression that he approves 
 of his lodging." 
 
 "He's a nice old thing. Where did you get him ?" 
 
 "He was dug up by a farmer in Somerset, at a 
 time when I was in the neighbourhood ; and I se- 
 cured him for thirty shillings, plus sixpence to the 
 labourer who brought him to my house." 
 
 "I suppose he's really worth more than that ?" 
 
 "Yes. Shall we sit down ?" 
 
 They took their places side by side on the bench, 
 facing the image. The morning grew hot, and the 
 thin, penetrating hum of flying insects made the 
 air vibrate, but the blue shadow of the tall hedge 
 protected the seat from the sunshine. 
 
 "So you see that there were great and wise civilisa- 
 tions before our own," said Sir Edward tritely. 
 "May I smoke a cigarette?" 
 
 "Do. ... Of course I know all about Eome and 
 Greece — " 
 
 Sir Edward nodded, with a slight lift of his eye- 
 brows, expressive of a gratified surprise. 
 
 "But surely," continued Shirley, "that old man 
 with a beard isn't the best proof of how wise they 
 were, is he? I mean, we don't hang wreaths on
 
 48 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 statues nowadays, and trust our affairs to them, do 
 we?" 
 
 "Don't we?" 
 
 "You mean Roman Catholics? I thought their 
 images were just meant as symbols. They're not 
 idols, are they?" 
 
 "And this is a symbol." 
 
 "Yes, but what of ? They had heaps and heaps of 
 gods, and they went on anyhow." 
 
 "Who is to lay down a standard of conduct for a 
 god ? Does the world strike you as being directed 
 in the manner in which you would do it yourself?" 
 
 "But, Sir Edward, you don't really believe in the 
 Roman idea of gods — Jupiter and Achilles and Aph- 
 rodite and all those ?" 
 
 "I believe in various unexaminable forces that to- 
 gether make up the universe as our senses display it. 
 It seems to me immaterial what names we give them : 
 Elohim and Beelzebub, with his train, or Ormuzd 
 and Ahriman, or the thousands of other labels that 
 men have attached to them. Silvanus Orientalis 
 here formed part of a pretty old and wise belief ; and 
 wisdom is older than the hills, and is constantly be- 
 ing lost, rediscovered and lost again." 
 
 "Then do you think the Romans were wiser than 
 we are ?" 
 
 "That is to cast too wide a net. Rome was some- 
 times startlingly wise, sometimes unimaginably silly. 
 I am speaking of the scholastic average of knowledge,
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 49 
 
 of course. There are wise individuals in all ages, 
 even the grossest. As far as we are concerned, we 
 are, to my mind, just rising from one of our lowest 
 falls, and slowly beginning to work our way up the 
 slope once more. This I should venture to say: 
 that Western Europe was further advanced four hun- 
 dred years ago than it is to-day." 
 
 "Was it really?" cried Shirley, her lips parted 
 and Ker eyes dilated. "Haven't we made a lot of 
 wonderful discoveries lately, though ?" 
 
 "They were equally wonderful the last time they 
 were discovered." 
 
 "Oh, I know! The Chinese! They always dis- 
 covered everything six thousand years before we did 
 — gunpowder and compasses and suspension bridges. 
 I used to think they were the most tiresome people, 
 and dreadful liars, too." 
 
 "I wasn't thinking so much of the Chinese, al- 
 though many of their claims are demonstrably true. 
 But take one of the very basic facts of the universe — 
 the radio-active energy. What is being laboriously 
 pieced together in our days was not only known but 
 controlled centuries ago. The wise men who had the 
 secret, however, dared not share it with the mob. 
 If we have lost in knowledge lately, we have at least 
 gained in tolerance — probably in consequence. 
 Tolerance is the virtue of the supremely wise and 
 the profoundly ignorant; and in the days of which 
 I speak vast numbers of men were in the search for
 
 50 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 knowledge, and bitterly hostile to opposing schools 
 of thought. So the great secret was hidden away; 
 fondled in hiding by the comparatively few; and a 
 ridiculous, pseudo-scientific conception of the uni- 
 verse was constructed, which at one time it was rank 
 heresy to doubt, but which has been blown into frag- 
 ments by the partial exhumation of the old wisdom." 
 
 "I don't know much about radium. It's got some- 
 thing to do with X-ray photographs, hasn't it ?" 
 
 "You would be in tears if I attempted to give you 
 a lecture on radio-activity; and so should I, at the 
 sight of your martyrdom. But this you certainly 
 know : if there was one sheet anchor in which the sci- 
 entists trusted until lately, it was the stability of 
 the atom, wasn't it ?" 
 
 Shirley nodded, wide-eyed. 
 
 "The whole of their theories was held by it ; and 
 now the cable has parted. We know that everything 
 changes, endlessly and inevitably ; that variations are 
 not due to mere rearrangement, but to actual trans- 
 formation of constituents, proceeding from a force 
 that lurks within every atom; that we can pin our 
 faith to no material thing; that uranium becomes 
 ionium, ionium radium, and so on. We can imagine 
 no limit upwards or downwards to these metamor- 
 phoses. Some have guessed that the entire process 
 is a mere circle, though too vast to be conceived ; and 
 that agrees well enough with the views of certain
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 51 
 
 geometrists who have, in recent times, questioned the 
 authority of Euclid, and conceived a spherical uni- 
 verse, beyond the limits of which human reason and 
 imagination can never travel. . . . Well, these 
 things are taught in the schools in our time, but the 
 men who knew all this and much more, some cen- 
 turies back, would have been burnt if they had not 
 kept their lips shut. They knew; they even em- 
 ployed their knowledge in a way still impossible to 
 our modern scientists. ]STo doubt you have laughed, 
 yourself, over the wild tales of those who transmuted 
 the baser metals into gold; or who tore the vital 
 energy from the heart of the elements and absorbed 
 it into their own bodies. Miss Cresswell, those 
 stories were true." 
 
 "But how can you possibly know?" 
 
 "Secrets have a way of surviving. I know more 
 than that ; I know of many things that have not yet 
 been accorded a pompous public ceremony of unveil- 
 ing. All these theories of natural science merely 
 touch the surface. They are convenient working hy- 
 potheses ; they are handy, like the mathematical sym- 
 bols ; they are not the truth." 
 
 "I don't quite follow that." 
 
 "Take an instance. It has been suggested that our 
 world is about a hundred and ten million years old, 
 geologically. But the world is an instant — nothing 
 — eternal."
 
 52 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "Oh dear!" cried Shirley despairingly. "Then 
 what is true ?" 
 
 The flying insects hummed and circled about them 
 as Sir Edward smilingly contemplated her confu- 
 sion. 
 
 "That's hardly a thing that can be explained in a 
 morning's talk, nor to an unprepared mind, however 
 receptive." 
 
 "Can't you give me some sort of hint ?" 
 
 "I could give you many, but they would probably 
 only worry and weary you. What you have to de- 
 cide is : do you want to know the truth ? Or, rather, 
 to be put on the path that leads to it ?" 
 
 "Of course I do." 
 
 "You say that without reflection. Remember that 
 far the greater part of mankind has died without 
 having a glimpse of it, and many of them have got 
 a good deal out of life." 
 
 Shirley considered this proposition for a time, 
 with her eyes on the ground; while Sir Edward 
 watched her with an expression almost of tenderness 
 on his smooth face. 
 
 "That's true," she said presently. "Perhaps it 
 may be better to live in an imaginary world. . . . 
 What do you think?" she concluded, looking up at 
 him suddenly. 
 
 "Do you really want my advice?" 
 
 "Please!" 
 
 "It's prejudiced, you understand."
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 53 
 
 "I'm not obliged to follow it, am I ?" she pointed 
 out, her solemnity relaxing. 
 
 "Then, in your place, I should choose to know all 
 I could. More than that, I myself am anxious that 
 you should." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "If you were going carelessly through life, like 
 Lovat or Joyce or her mother or even her father, then 
 I should not attempt to influence you one way or the 
 other. It would be a matter for you to decide un- 
 aided. But you are not happy, or only happy in 
 patches. The blows that you have taken from fate 
 have left their marks. You have an unusually sen- 
 sitive nature; your eyes, your mouth, your voice, 
 your hands, the texture of your skin, all proclaim 
 that. The question is : can you forget, as less highly 
 strung people forget? Or, in any case, will it not 
 be a long and sorrowful process ? I am profoundly 
 interested in vou, Miss Cresswell. To what is looselv 
 called a mystic, like myself, you radiate a curious 
 personal charm quite unconnected with, and in ad- 
 dition to, your physical beauty. I should like to see 
 you happy." 
 
 His tone was dispassionately gentle, and the girl 
 acknowledged his sympathy with a swift look of 
 gratitude. 
 
 "You think that if I knew more I should be hap- 
 pier ?" 
 
 "I know that if you had the inclination and pa-
 
 54 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 tience to learn enough, you could be entirely happy." 
 
 "That sounds too good to be true. Why doesn't 
 everyone learn, if that's so?" 
 
 "Everyone isn't given the chance. Those who 
 know much are not necessarily philanthropists. And 
 most, as I told you, are unable to learn, even if they 
 get a chance; for it generally comes too late. But 
 you, I am pretty sure, can learn if you like." 
 
 "I wonder. . . . You told me in London that, if 
 I let you, you could teach me to forget what I 
 wanted to, and to feel as I liked to feel, but I didn't 
 understand then that it would be by being let into 
 secrets about the world. I thought it was onlv bv ex- 
 ercising my will — by pretending that everything was 
 all right, like the Christian Scientists. You said 
 (didn't you?) that their ideas were true enough, as 
 far as they went ; but that there was another sort of 
 Christian Science that you'd explain to me some 
 day — ethical, was it ?" 
 
 "You remember me perfectly. But don't speak of 
 the Christian Science method as that of pretending 
 to be well, and so being, or getting, well. According 
 to them, it is the exact contrary ; realising that sick- 
 ness is an illusion, that, in fact, one is pretending 
 to be ill. That, however, is equally untrue. Health 
 or sickness, quietude or pain, are merely the result 
 of a deliberate choice. You can have which you like. 
 To-day you are wearing that very pretty white dress ;
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 65 
 
 yesterday, when you arrived, you had an equally 
 pretty one of blue. When you dressed this morning, 
 you did not say 'Let's pretend that my blue dress is 
 white/ or: 'I was deluded yesterday into believing 
 that this white dress was blue.' You chose the one 
 you wanted to wear, and put it on." 
 
 She wrinkled her smooth forehead faintly. 
 
 "I see. . . . And what about the ethical part of 
 it ? What is ethical, exactly ?" 
 
 "Shall we say the rule of conduct, the idea of 
 Good and Evil, you know ?" 
 
 "You mean that one can choose to do right or 
 wrong ? But we all do that." 
 
 "'No, no. You misunderstand me. We can 
 choose whether we will make what we are about to 
 do right or wrong." 
 
 "But that's the same thing." 
 
 "Surely not. Let's assume an absurd instance. 
 I contemplate killing Mr. Cassilis, for no reason, or 
 because, perhaps, I dislike his habit of snorting, 
 which I certainly do. If Lovat did the same action 
 he would be wrong. If I did it, I could make it 
 right." 
 
 "That would only prove that you thought more 
 of yourself than Captain Lovat does. I suppose most 
 murderers think they were quite right to do their 
 murders." 
 
 "Doubtless; but they are often mistaken. In my
 
 56 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 case, it would not be a question of personal prejudice. 
 The killing would be right. I should have made it 
 right beforehand." 
 
 Shirley shook her head. 
 
 "I don't see that a bit. Besides, what would be 
 the good of it ? They'd hang you just the same." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You mean that you could persuade them ... ?" 
 
 "There would be no need for persuasion. Why 
 should there be? One is hanged for doing evil, 
 not for doing good. At least, that's the the- 
 ory." 
 
 "Sir Edward ! Do you mean to say that if I had 
 enough will — or knowledge, or whatever it is, I could 
 go and steal half the Crown jewels to-morrow morn- 
 ing, and everyone would agree that I was quite right ; 
 and that if Mrs. Cassilis stole the other half in the 
 afternoon, they'd send her to prison ?" 
 
 "Eoughly, that is so." 
 
 "But that's really altering the whole course of 
 nature." 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "Nothing's real ... is that the idea ? It's only 
 a sort of dream, and we can learn to dream what we 
 like?" 
 
 "Not quite that either, although something like it. 
 We are all world-creators; but most of us create 
 blindly. The stuff is all ready to our hands, without 
 form ; and the unskilful compound it into shapes that
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 57 
 
 partially please and partially disappoint them; and 
 the few achieve masterpieces." 
 
 "It sounds to me — I know I'm silly, and don't 
 think I mean to be rude — but it sounds to me quite 
 mad," Shirley sighed hopelessly. "Anyhow, I 
 should think it's rather a dangerous sort of belief — 
 immoral, isn't it? A few of us could go rushing 
 about killing people and taking their money and 
 running off with their husbands and wives; and, 
 however little the others enjoyed it, it would be all 
 right, because we said it was." 
 
 The man laughed at her fractiousness. 
 
 "I agree that it sounds rather like the Saturnalia ; 
 but I warned you that the subject was practically 
 impossible to set out clearly in a short talk. Notice 
 this, however : it couldn't possibly be described as an 
 immoral philosophy. To do right is not immoral." 
 
 "Please ! I'm so confused." 
 
 "Let's leave that side of the question, then. In 
 broad terms, you see the general effect on one's per- 
 sonal lot; the power to control fate absolutely, and 
 to make one's experiences whatever one chooses. Do 
 you consider that that offers sufficient inducement to 
 study the matter a little further ? You can stop at 
 any point you like ; anywhere you feel you disagree, 
 or instinct, or prejudice — yes, or superior wisdom, 
 perhaps — tells you that you are on perilous ground. 
 You understand that all this talk about murders and 
 what not is only for the purpose of letting you see,
 
 58 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 through extreme and even burlesque illustrations, 
 What powers are within man's reach. The supreme 
 object would be happiness; absolute personal con- 
 tentment; raptures that are inconceivable to most of 
 us." 
 
 "It sounds lovely," Shirley agreed. "How does 
 one learn ? Is it frightfully difficult ?" 
 
 "Neither difficult nor easy. It is a simple ques- 
 tion of personality. But nothing is lost by discover- 
 ing whether you have a suitable one." 
 
 Shirley put back her shoulders, and sat more up- 
 right, looking out over the stiff line of the hedge-top 
 at the stainless sky. A returning smile came and 
 went at the corners of her mouth. 
 
 "What do I have to do ? Go to lectures ? I don't 
 much like lectures." 
 
 "God forbid ! You would have to talk to me, or, 
 if you prefer, to others who have the knowledge to a 
 greater or less degree. Further. . . ." he paused, 
 and looked at her with a kind of sternness that 
 banished the smile from her face, "further, there are 
 certain concessions that must be made to the human 
 mind. The craving for symbolism and ritual is 
 deeply rooted in our natures. They form an essen- 
 tial part of metaphysical instruction. They often 
 triumph where mere logic is bound to fail, because 
 they make an appeal to profounder gifts than the 
 faculty of reason. This question of Good and Evil, 
 for instance . . ."
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 59 
 
 "I was thinking of that while we were talking 
 about it," Shirley interrupted intelligently. "I sup- 
 pose you'd say that there's no such thing scientifi- 
 cally, as either. Of course, I can't help fancying 
 there is, but then I haven't got a scientific mind." 
 
 "And you are perfectly right. You have fore- 
 stalled my very words. Logically one can place be- 
 yond all possible doubt that the conceptions of right 
 and wrong are only based on variable social conven- 
 ience; that any eternal, world-wide, immutable stan- 
 dard must be an absurdity. And, while we prove it, 
 our whole nature rejects the conclusion, in defiance 
 of our reasoning minds. How then are we to ap- 
 proach the knowledge of these two great opposing 
 forces ? Through the emotions, stimulated by a 
 suitable ritual." 
 
 "So Mrs. Cassilis was right when she told me, last 
 night, that you had started a new religion ?" 
 
 "A new religion is not an accurate description. 
 The materials of which my belief is built are prob- 
 ably much the same as your own, although the com- 
 pleted construction is different. I am not trying to 
 lead you away after false gods. Don't think that. 
 Your God, the Almighty One, is mine also; your 
 Devil . . ." 
 
 "Oh, but I don't believe in Mm," she cried de- 
 fiantly. 
 
 "The powers of evil exist ; be sure of that. How 
 can you look about you and doubt it ? But they are
 
 60 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 slaves, not lords. You need not fear — or possibly 
 hope — that my object is to persuade you to transfer 
 your allegiance from the master to the servant, as 
 certain sects of mystics are reported to do. My fol- 
 lowers do not attempt to enter into bargains in which 
 their souls are the purchase money or consideration ; 
 and I suppose I need hardly tell you that no man has 
 been held bound by such a contract since the world 
 began." 
 
 "Of course not," Shirley agreed, risking a laugh. 
 "So you have followers, then ?" 
 
 "Let's call them associates. We are all on the 
 road ; some in front, some behind. None of us have 
 arrived. I make no claim to be in the very forefront, 
 although my nearest competitors seem to wish to give 
 me the first place." 
 
 "Who are they ? Anyone I know ?" 
 
 Sir Edward hesitated; and when he spoke again 
 his voice, face and manner had discarded a certain 
 glowing and sombre exaltation which had begun to 
 make itself manifest. 
 
 "For various reasons I never mention names in 
 this connexion. Every one of us has necessarily a 
 commonplace side to his life, from which he prefers 
 to keep his spiritual experience separate." 
 
 "You don't like your friends to talk about this be- 
 lief of yours ?" 
 
 "I am quite indifferent; it doesn't affect me. 
 Please don't imagine that I am going to extract a
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 61 
 
 vow of secrecy from you, or that there is anything 
 underhand or insincere in our proceedings. You 
 will be quite at liberty to talk about them to anyone 
 you like; or to send an account of them to 'John 
 Bull/ if you prefer. In practice, however, I find 
 that initiates are disposed to keep their own counsel. 
 Such subjects are hardly suitable for small talk, are 
 they?" 
 
 "No, I see that," answered Shirley; and the pair 
 fell into silence. The sun had found them out in 
 their hiding place, and .Shirley opened her white 
 sunshade. From under the edge of it she kept glanc- 
 ing doubtfully, almost humourously, at her compan- 
 ion who, in his smartly cut flannels, with his big, 
 smooth head bare, his shaven face tranquil and un- 
 compromisingly modern, and his illegible eyes 
 watching the blue and brown wreaths of tobacco 
 smoke, looked particularly unlike the prophet of an 
 occult sect. Presently he dropped his regard unex- 
 pectedly on the girl, and spoke as if in reply to a 
 remark. 
 
 "Yes ; it all sounds very absurd ; and it is absurd, 
 if it's approached frivolously or even apathetically. 
 Go into it out of inquisitiveness, teased with the itch 
 to mock at anything serious which is almost universal 
 at present, and you may get a certain amount of 
 laughter out of the thing; but you could get more, 
 with greatly less expenditure of time and money, by 
 going to see Harry Tate sell his motor-car."
 
 62 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "Oh, I wouldn't do that," she apologetically pro- 
 tested. "You say I needn't go on, if I find it wor- 
 ries me, or I can't understand it ?" 
 
 "Dear me, no ! Some never get beyond their no- 
 vitiate; some never even reach initiation; they are 
 given an indication of what lies before them, if they 
 choose to go on, but no more. Only a few attain the 
 higher stages. Most get out of their depths in time ; 
 or for some reason I don't feel inclined to take them 
 further. At any moment you are perfectly at 
 liberty to retire from the adventure, with as 
 much or as little knowledge as you happen to have 
 gained." 
 
 "I'm afraid I shouldn't get far." 
 
 "That's difficult to foretell. But I feel— and this, 
 you know, is the only reason that I have said so 
 much to you after so short an acquaintance — I feel 
 somehow that you could reach the front rank if you 
 cared to do so. So far, you have tried to jeer your 
 troubles out of existence, to treat everything lightly 
 and carelessly. You've been grievously hurt, and 
 you think that laughter is the salve for your wounds. 
 Real laughter is to some extent anodyne ; but yours 
 is not real. Laughter based on incredulity and de- 
 spair cannot be real. It is bitter; and bitterness 
 cures nothing." 
 
 "No," she confessed in a low voice, looking down 
 at her lap, like a scolded child. Sir Edward turned 
 to her quickly and took her hand lightly in his own.
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 63 
 
 "I want you to believe in something/' he urged, 
 with an almost passionate instancy. "Anything — 
 wisdom, an ideal, love, God — anything that will lift 
 you out of this wretched business of setting the teeth 
 and shutting the eyes and waiting for the end. 
 There is no end. There is all life and eternal life 
 before you. But to waste even a day over a useless 
 and painful treatment of your sickness is tragic. 
 Will you try my way? You must see that yours 
 has been a failure. Will you see if mine suits you 
 better?" 
 
 "There's no harm in trying," she said, with obvious 
 reluctance. "But I'm afraid. . . ." 
 
 "Stop !" he said smilingly, still keeping hold of her 
 hand. "You musn't start off in that spirit. If you 
 can't, for the moment, feel confident, which I could 
 hardly expect, at all events keep an open mind. A 
 very short trial will be enough to persuade you 
 whether there is any hope in the new prescription or 
 not." 
 
 "It's kind of you to bother about it," murmured 
 Shirley, without looking at him. "And I do feel 
 pretty beastly, at times. . . . When would you find 
 time to teach me, though ? You know, I'm at work 
 all day." 
 
 He released her hand, shook the ash from his 
 cigarette, crossed his legs, and spoke in the kindly, 
 formal manner which he had used at their first meet- 
 ing.
 
 64 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "Yes. I should imagine that you might do a good 
 deal by yourself, in your spare moments." 
 
 "Books?" There was a note of apprehension in 
 her voice. 
 
 "Books; varied by conversation, when you could 
 spare me an hour or so. Don't look alarmed. I 
 think that, in your case, the preliminary study might 
 be cut down fairly low, though some is essential, I'm 
 afraid. To your nature emotion is more suggestive 
 than argument. If you will give me your address in 
 London, I'll let you know shortly what I propose 
 for you. First of all, though, tell me frankly what 
 makes you contemplate exhibiting my remedy." 
 
 "I won't do that," she assured him. "I won't let 
 anyone see it, truly." 
 
 "I'm sure you wouldn't, although I've told you 
 that you're quite at liberty to. What I should have 
 said was : Wiry are you inclined to take advice from 
 me? I can see that the idea of a ritual presided 
 over by me not unnaturally amuses you a little. Is 
 it merely an appetite for new sensations, or have 
 you really a feeling of hope ? And, if so, why ?" 
 
 She pondered. 
 
 "Well, I don't quite know, but I have ; and I didn't 
 mean to be amused. You see, one doesn't often 
 come across a person who takes anything seriously; 
 at least, they're ashamed to say so, if they do, until 
 they've known you for years. So I wasn't quite 
 sure whether you were laughing at me, or not. . . .
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 65 
 
 And it isn't only inquisitiveness, although I am in- 
 quisitive, too. New things, particularly if they're 
 odd or a .little uncanny, always thrill me a good 
 deal. But, besides that, I do feel that you may be 
 able to help me to fuss and bother myself less. Of 
 course, you're clever, and you look so sure of yourself 
 and calm and contented. I should like to feel like 
 that. Nerves and depression are horrible. Do you 
 think there's any real cure for them, or must they 
 just be lived down ?" 
 
 "With good will, you shall be as impervious to 
 trouble as myself, before many months; so you see 
 that, even if you choose to stop at that point, you 
 will have gained much. But you will go on. I know 
 it." 
 
 He threw his cigarette under the hedge, and rose 
 from the seat. 
 
 "We'd better be getting back to our hostess, I 
 suppose," he said with a polite regretfulness of tone. 
 "She won't forgive me if I monopolise you for the 
 whole morning ; moreover, I have lectured you enough, 
 goodness knows, for one day. You've borne it with 
 exemplary patience. I can see that you'll be the 
 best of pupils ; and it shan't be my fault if you don't 
 live to be glad of it." 
 
 During the return to the lawn, he said no more 
 on the subject of their long duologue, but talked 
 pleasantly and at random of more commonplace mat- 
 ters. Mrs. Cassilis, still seated in her wicker chair,
 
 66 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 had dropped her novel, and was laughing at some 
 frivolity of Billy Lovat's. Joyce, on the grass at 
 her feet, was idly peeping into the pages of the dis- 
 carded book. Her father had gone indoors, and 
 his place was occupied by Magdalen, who lay back 
 in what appeared to be her habitual condition of 
 amused semi-somnolence. She looked up as the pair 
 of newcomers approached, and seemed to note their 
 association with an increase of attention, which nar- 
 rowed her pale eyes queerly. Then lifting her eye- 
 lids, she turned a glance upon Sir Edward that was 
 almost a question; one, however, to which he gave 
 no perceptible reply. There was nothing in his face 
 to shew that he had even been aware of the mute 
 enquiry. Smiling on the party, and laying two 
 fingers momentarily on Shirley's forearm, he made 
 his apology. 
 
 "I'm afraid I've been very selfish about Miss Cress- 
 well; but it is entirely her fault. She interested 
 me so much that I was quite unconscious of the 
 length of her captivity. However she's been very 
 good, and has thoroughly earned her release. . . . 
 Where's Gathorne?" 
 
 "Still in bed with a dreadful headache, poor fel- 
 low !" Mrs. Cassilis replied. "I sent up to ask him 
 if we could do anything for him and he said 'no' ; 
 and he was afraid he wouldn't be down for lunch. 
 Such a dismal way of passing a week-end in the 
 country!"
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 67 
 
 "I'll go up and have a look at him," said Sir 
 Edward, without any display of sympathy for the 
 sufferer. 
 
 "Do. He sent down word that he couldn't see 
 anybody ; but, of course, that wouldn't apply to you." 
 
 "It was probably aimed directly at me," Sir Ed- 
 ward smiled, "but I shall go, for all that. He gives 
 way, on these occasions; lets himself go altogether; 
 and he'll probably lie there for two or three days 
 starving and pitying himself, if I don't take him in 
 hand firmly. I shall bring him down to lunch all 
 right — you see !" 
 
 Still smiling, he wandered away towards the house, 
 his large, well shaped head bare to the sun, his eyes 
 unwinking in the glare. Magdalen had slipped from 
 her chair to the grass beside it, and caught Shirley 
 by the hand affectionately. 
 
 "Sit down here," she begged, studying the other's 
 face with half closed eyes, in which laughter and ad- 
 miration seemed to be at war with utter weariness. 
 "What a gorgeous morning! I wish one never had 
 to move again. May I lean my head against your 
 knee, darling ?" 
 
 Shirley agreeing to this arrangement with an ami- 
 able lack of enthusiasm, Magdalen dropped her flam- 
 ing locks against the white of her friend's dress, 
 with a comfortable sigh. For all her superficial 
 cynicism, she seemed to have a foundation of senti- 
 mentality to her character; for by and by the scar-
 
 68 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 let head turned slowly on the knee, and Shirley, who 
 was at the moment speaking to Joyce, broke off and 
 looked down with raised eyebrows as Magdalen 
 pressed her lips to the hand which she held in her 
 own. The crouching girl did not lift her eyes, how- 
 ever; but, having given this slow caress, fell back 
 with another small sigh into her former position. 
 Shirley glanced across at Joyce, who had been watch- 
 ing this pretty interlude, and they both smiled, the 
 elder with mere amusement, the younger with mani- 
 fest scorn.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE two young women encountered at the entry 
 of Delbruck's in the second week in July. 
 The day was sadly overcast, and an occasional chilly 
 breath of air spoke of coming rain; but Magdalen 
 was in festal array. Shirley, on the other hand, al- 
 though as enviably clothed as became the representa- 
 tive of a noted firm of dressmakers, had taken the 
 possibilities of the weather into consideration to some 
 extent. 
 
 "Here you are ! What luck to catch you !" 
 "How do you do ?" said Shirley, submitting first 
 one cheek and then the other to an enthusiastic kiss. 
 "Where are you off to ?" 
 
 "I was just going out to get something to eat." 
 "Alone % That's splendid. I flew down here from 
 Lord's, on a sudden inspiration, to ask you to lunch 
 with me and come up to the match afterwards. My 
 young brother's playing — Chris; I forget if you've 
 met him; and I've got a 'rover' ticket to spare for 
 you. Do say yes!" 
 
 "I'm afraid I can't possibly," Shirley lamented, 
 opening her eyes wide. "I must get back this af- 
 ternoon." 
 
 "But that's ridiculous. Don't you ever take a day 
 
 69
 
 70 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 off? Besides, it's a part of your business duties. 
 Lord's is one of our chief dress-parades ; or so I'm 
 told, though I haven't seen anything there so far 
 that would cause any comment in the Brixton Bon 
 Marche. Still, I'm sure the Brooks would have 
 told you to go if they'd remembered it. Is Emily 
 in? I'll go and explain matters to her." 
 
 "She isn't ; I'm in charge ; and we've a lot of ap- 
 pointments this afternoon. Really ! I'm awfully 
 sorry, but I can't come." 
 
 "You're a little pig. What about lunch, then? 
 You've confessed you were going to have that alone, 
 so you can't very well get out of it without making 
 an enemy of me for life." 
 
 "But I can only spare such a very little time. It's 
 hardly worth it, is it? For you, I mean," asked 
 Shirley, looking up and down the street in a worried 
 manner. 
 
 "I'll let you go whenever you feel you must," Mag- 
 dalen promised, with a flattering eagerness. "Where 
 do you usually feed?" 
 
 "I very often walk up to Selfridge's. . . ." 
 
 "Well, there you are ! I can save you some time. 
 Here's my taxi waiting, and I know a nearer place 
 than Selfridge's. Oh ; be nice, Shirley!" 
 
 "Of course, I should love to," the other explained, 
 her troubled face relaxing into a politely grateful ex- 
 pression ; "if you don't mind me running away di- 
 rectly afterwards."
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 71 
 
 "You're a nailer at dissembling your love," 
 drawled Magdalen, smiling affectionately on the re- 
 calcitrant guest. "Jump in! Go to Ann Toyne's, 
 Maddox Street," she added, in a new and convincing 
 Cockney accent to the driver. 
 
 The man, apparently unconscious of her presence 
 and voice, slammed the door of the cab on her, with 
 a backhanded gesture, and put his foot on the clutch. 
 Magdalen settled down in her corner, and took one 
 of Shirley's gloved hands in her own. 
 
 "Do you know Antoine's? It's quite good, and 
 it's quiet. I thought possibly Edward Talbot might 
 have taken you there. It's one of his haunts." 
 
 "Sir Edward ? I haven't seen him since I stayed 
 with Mrs. Cassilis; and we'd only met once before 
 that, you know." 
 
 "Very odd ! I made sure that he'd have followed 
 you about like Mary's lamb, these last three weeks. 
 He was awfully smitten." 
 
 "He wasn't," Shirley protested. "How can you 
 talk such nonsense ?" 
 
 "Of course he was. How could he help being? 
 All Sunday morning alone with you ; nearly an hour 
 after tea; and drove you up to London next day, 
 leaving the chauffeur behind! Yes, you may well 
 look innocent." 
 
 "If you could have heard the improving things 
 we talked about !" 
 
 "Oh, that's just the guile of the creature. It's
 
 72 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 only stupid men who begin to flirt at once, and get 
 themselves put down as triflers. A few geniuses kiss 
 one on sight ; and of course they're out and away the 
 biggest successes; but I suppose Edward thinks he 
 hasn't got the necessary means for that part. Be- 
 sides, even the geniuses get snubbed sometimes ; and 
 he couldn't endure that. Never mind! He'll get 
 more amusing before long." 
 
 "Probably he's forgotten my very existence." 
 "Because he's neglected you for three weeks ? 
 Don't you believe it. I know the great man. He 
 moves in a mysterious way, his wonders to perform. 
 Besides, the explanation's suddenly struck me. 
 Probably he's getting into his new house in the coun- 
 try. I know it was ready, when we were at Over- 
 bourne. He wouldn't ask you to a house-warming 
 party ; he'd prefer to get you on some quieter occa- 
 sion, when he could give you more of his atten- 
 tion. Oh yes ! You'll give me news of him before 
 
 "All right!" Shirley patiently sighed. "Only 
 please don't go telling other people that he's in love 
 with me. They'd be sure to think that I started 
 the idea." 
 
 "Oh no, they wouldn't," Magdalen assured her, 
 covering her with her pale, sleepy eyes, and pressing 
 her hand slightly. "Everybody's in love with you; 
 young men and maidens, old men and children. 
 However, I won't say anything. It wouldn't be
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 73 
 
 necessary; they'd all take it for granted. . . . Here 
 we are!" 
 
 An orange tree in a copper-hooped tub stood sen- 
 tinel on either side of Antoine's doorway, and his 
 name appeared over the lintel in narrow gilt letters, 
 a foot long; but the proprietor made no further pub- 
 lic appeal. The sash windows on the ground-floor, 
 with their curtains of lace and tapestry, might well 
 have lighted the dining and drawing rooms of a pri- 
 vate house. The front-door was open, but no silver- 
 buttoned commissionaire guarded the entrance. 
 Only a stout, grave man, in butler's undress, stood in 
 the aperture, as if refreshing himself with a breath 
 of air. This attendant ushered the two companions 
 down the carpeted passage to the restaurant, a fair 
 sized saloon, occupying the entire width of the build- 
 ing, and capable of holding sixty or seventy guests, 
 if need be. The two front rooms of this floor were 
 used for waiting purposes and the reception of outer 
 wraps ; kitchen, sculleries and dressing rooms occu- 
 pied the upper floors, so Magdalen informed Shirley, 
 while the basement contained Antoine's vaunted stock 
 of wine. About a dozen lunch-tables were occupied, 
 chiefly by pairs of friends ; but not all could be seen 
 at one time, a cunning arrangement of palms and 
 folding screens securing a moderate privacy for those 
 who desired it. The carpet was thick, the service 
 commendably deliberate and noiseless, and the elec- 
 tric lamps softly shaded. The light was almost
 
 74 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 wholly artificial, for the four windows at the back 
 of the room, which presumably, when open, com- 
 manded a view of a yard or mews, were filled with 
 coloured glass set in lead cames. The general effect, 
 if not actually equivocal, was rather notably discreet, 
 and seemed to have its influence on the company, 
 which conversed, for the most part in confidential 
 half-tones. An occasional plainly audible phrase or 
 laugh came rather as a surprise. Magdalen and 
 Shirley found places beneath one of the glowing win- 
 dows. 
 
 "I come here when I've got someone with me that 
 I want to talk to as well as look at," Magdalen ex- 
 plained. "When I don't want to talk to them, I 
 go to the Carlton; and when I don't want to look at 
 them, I go home and have a cup of tea in bed. So 
 restful ! . . . You'll have a Bron first, darling, 
 won't you ? Honestly ? I will, then." 
 
 When the cocktail was set before her, she lighted 
 a cigarette, and began to study the bill of fare idly. 
 
 "Shall I order? I think it's such a tedious job." 
 
 "Yes, will you?" 
 
 "What sort of thing do you like ? Are you hun- 
 
 gry?" 
 
 "Not frightfully. Anything that sounds nice." 
 A swarthy young waiter in black livery, with knee- 
 breeches and white cotton gloves, stood silently at 
 Magdalen's elbow, awaiting her commands, but the 
 fact did not flurry her in any way.
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 75 
 
 "I'm simply ravenous. We breakfasted at nine — 
 we're down at Hackhurst now, you know. Oh, didn't 
 you ? Yes ; Phillimore Gardens is shut up till Octo- 
 ber. So stupid of mother to insist on going down 
 just a week before Lord's ; or, rather, inconsiderate, 
 because she didn't want to go to the match, though 
 she knew I did. I had to leave the house before 
 ten. Chris wouldn't forgive me if I turned up late, 
 dear old boy!" 
 
 At the momentary pause in her remarks, the waiter 
 broke in, speaking in a tone of mystery, and bending 
 his gleaming head low towards her. 
 
 "You like-a to start off with some Cantalupo 
 melon ?" 
 
 "It was quite cold, coming up," Magdalen con- 
 tinued, deaf to the suggestion, "and I've been sitting 
 in the Mound Stand all the morning; so you can 
 imagine if I want my lunch. . . . Well, what about 
 some melon, my child ? You're sure you like that ? 
 Or hors d'oeuvre ? They've rather a pretty fancy in 
 liors d'oeuvre here. Melon you think's nicer? Yes, 
 I do too, really. . . . What fish? Or would you 
 rather have an omelette? I think they're the most 
 filthy compounds. Do have one! They can make 
 you quite a little-y one, all for yourself." 
 
 "Omelette aux rognons? Wiz some kittanies in- 
 side?" the servant insinuated. 
 
 "My dear man, don't talk!" protested Magdalen. 
 "How can I possibly think while you're talking ? No,
 
 76 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 we don't want any kittens. Fines herbes. . . . 
 What did I order for myself ?" 
 
 The labour completed, and a grey-haired dignitary 
 having been sent in quest of a bottle of Sauterne, 
 Magdalen swallowed her cocktail, put her elbows on 
 the table, and sighed with the air of one who has 
 aspired and achieved. 
 
 "Prize Gawd thet's done!" she said piously. "I 
 say, it's ripping having you here. I hope you're en- 
 joying it too ?" 
 
 "Of course I am. I like this place; it feels so 
 wicked. I wonder why. I suppose because it's 
 so very quiet, and smells of lilies, and the waiters 
 have such blue faces. . . . Are you going back to the 
 country to-night, did you say? What time does 
 the cricket stop ?" 
 
 "Oh, it goes on for two solid days, you know, un- 
 less a riot sets in, Chris says. In which case, no 
 doubt, all fastidious people would leave at once. . . . 
 Yes, I'm bound to go back, because all the hotels in 
 London are chock-full; but it's an awful grind, hav- 
 ing to come up again to-morrow." 
 
 "Can't you shirk it?" 
 
 "My dear ! And perhaps miss seeing Chris win 
 the match by making a century or doing the hat- 
 trick? I haven't the faintest idea what doing the 
 hat-trick is. It sounds the sort of sport that circus 
 clowns engage in ; but it's constantly taking place in 
 cricket, I know. Besides, I don't want to shirk.
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 77 
 
 No, I must face another early breakfast, and the 
 rigours of the road. Who'd be a sister ? But Chris 
 is such an angel-lamb!" 
 
 Shirley leaned back in her chair, and contemplated 
 such lunch-parties as were visible. At a neighbour- 
 ing table, a stout moustached man of middle age sat 
 opposite a slim, fair boy. Both were dressed in 
 the extreme of fashion, and their meal, which they 
 attacked in silence, was a complex one, judging by 
 the array of bottles and dishes. As Shirley turned 
 her head towards them, the boy laid down his knife 
 and fork and stared at her intently. His compan- 
 ion, attracted by this sudden immobility, followed 
 the direction of his eyes, and frowned when he dis- 
 covered what the object of interest was. The girl 
 immediately transferred her attention to a table 
 straight in front of her, where a man and woman, 
 both of Southern appearance, were murmuring in- 
 audibly to each other, their faces as close together 
 as the width of the table would permit. 
 
 "More incendiarism!" commented Magdalen, in 
 her languid drawl. "That's boy's spell-bound. I'm 
 sure I'm not surprised; you look too ducky in that 
 demure little frock. If I was a man, I should be 
 getting my lugger round to Port of London to- 
 day." 
 
 "Oh, boys of that age always stare at every 
 woman in sight. It shews what dogs they are. His 
 father didn't seem io approve of his goings-on."
 
 78 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 While she was speaking, Magdalen watched her 
 slyly, between narrowed eyelids; and, when she 
 ceased, gave a short, odd laugh. 
 
 "No. . . . Jealous, no doubt." 
 
 "That poor old thing, too ? You are silly," replied 
 Shirley genuinely amused. 
 
 The waiter putting two vast crescents of melon 
 before them at this point, and adding silver castors, 
 she was free for a few seconds to continue her dis- 
 coveries. Her eyebrows suddenly lifted and her 
 lips slightly parted; and, when the servant had re- 
 tired, she leaned towards Magdalen, and spoke in a 
 lowered voice. 
 
 "I say! I believe Sir Edward Talbot is sitting 
 at the second table behind you, with another man. 
 You can just see him, now and then, through the 
 palm-leaves." 
 
 "Tell me when to look!" Magdalen did not seem 
 best pleased at this encounter. "Yes, that's Edward, 
 all right ; and Gathorne's with him. Don't catch his 
 eye, if you can help it. We don't want him coming 
 over here and monopolising the conversation. You'll 
 have plenty of him before long, you may be sure; 
 and very likely I shan't have a chance of talking to 
 you alone again before the middle of October. You 
 don't mind, darling?" 
 
 "Not a bit. I don't care much for three-handed 
 conversations. The other two always talk to each 
 other, and I get left out in the cold. . . . He isn't
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 79 
 
 likely to see us, unless he leaves before us. He's 
 quite hidden from me, except when he's sitting right 
 back, like that, and I'm leaning sideways, to look 
 round you." 
 
 "So you haven't lost your heart to him yet ?" 
 
 "To Sir Edward ? I thought him very interesting 
 and nice, but not in that way at all." 
 
 "He'd be flattered to hear you. And yet I don't 
 suppose he'd care, really. He can get most women 
 to think of him in that way, if he wants to." 
 
 "I can quite imagine," agreed Shirley, in polite 
 ellipsis. "But not me." 
 
 There was a little silence, during which Magdalen 
 once more seemed to be scrutinising her friend's sen- 
 sitive and faintly coloured face. 
 
 "Nor me. I'm not awfully interested in that sort 
 of thing, are you ?" 
 
 A slight shake of the head was all the reply. 
 
 "Men become so disgusting, somehow, when they 
 begin to make love. Of course, on paper, Romeo 
 and Cyrano said some ripping things ; but probably 
 even they had nasty red faces and hot eyes while they 
 were saying them ; and most men only have the faces 
 and eyes, without the silver tongues. Edward's never 
 tried his fascinations on me. He'd see at once that 
 it was a waste of time and trouble. Or perhaps he 
 didn't want to ? I never thought of that. . . . Still, 
 he's a thrilling creature." 
 
 "You mean his ideas are thrilling ?"
 
 80 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "Partly that. Or, rather, it's one's own ideas — 
 which one didn't know one had until he drew them 
 up to the surface — that are so engrossing." 
 
 "I thought he seemed very kind and sympathetic." 
 
 "Oh, that be blowed ! He isn't one of the brothers 
 Cheeryble ; he's a gigantic egoist — the completest that 
 ever lived, I believe. And, like all egoists, he must 
 pass on his opinions, or bust. He can't keep them 
 corked up. Kind, sympathetic people are only per- 
 nicious; they encourage you to grovel and snivel — 
 strew cushions before you, and lend you hankies. 
 All clear thinkers are as cold as this melon and 
 harder (I'm not going to pay for it) and so's Ed- 
 ward. If you're looking for someone to mingle your 
 tears with, you might as well try to snuggle up with 
 the Matterhorn. But if you want to know how to 
 stop them, he's the boy." 
 
 Although Shirley's face shewed no great convic- 
 tion that this estimate of his character was a true 
 one, she did not dispute the point. 
 
 "He's really made you happier ?" 
 
 "I was happy before I ever heard of him. I never 
 went in much for low spirits. But since I've known 
 him well. ... Oh yes !" 
 
 She had plainly been going to say more ; but, be- 
 fore speaking the last two words, she broke off unex- 
 pectedly, the enthusiasm that was beginning to light 
 pp her calm face faded, and she momentarily closed 
 her eyes, with a faint shiver, suggestive of a disgusted
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 81 
 
 realisation of her unwonted want of reticence. When 
 she completed the sentence, she became as lazily cyni- 
 cal as usual. 
 
 "You're great friends with him, aren't you ?" en- 
 quired Shirley, beginning to eat her omelette. 
 
 "We were pretty thick for a time; but we don't 
 meet very often now. I don't need him any more." 
 
 "How cruel of you ! How do you know he doesn't 
 need you ?" 
 
 "He ? He doesn't need anybody. So long as they 
 find a use for him, they interest him. The moment 
 they don't, they cease to exist for him, except as 
 part of the landscape." 
 
 The statement had the effect of silencing Shirley 
 for a while; and her eyes were thoughtful. When 
 she spoke again, she hesitated over her choice of 
 words. 
 
 "Suppose a person asked him to — asked his advice 
 about things in general, you know ; and didn't like it 
 — wasn't inclined to take it, I mean, after all. Do 
 you think he's the sort of man who'd be offended — 
 who'd try to argue. . . . ?" 
 
 "You needn't be discreet, darling," said Magdalen, 
 coming to her rescue, and sliding a thin hand, on 
 which a large acquamarine gleamed coolly, across the 
 table-cloth, to press her friend's pale fingers. "Ed- 
 ward's offered to experiment on you, now — I knew he 
 had, down at Overbourne ; it was perfectly obvious — 
 and you're afraid of letting yourself in for some-
 
 82 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 thing tedious that you won't be able to get clear of 
 without unpleasantness. Don't be alarmed. He'd 
 no more dream of pestering you with unwanted ad- 
 vice than he would of making love to a woman who 
 didn't enjoy it — not even if it was you. Why should 
 he bother ? He'd have no difficulty in booking him- 
 self up, a year or two in advance, for any part that 
 he fancied would amuse him." 
 
 "You make him out quite a dangerous character," 
 said Shirley laughing. "How old is he?" 
 
 "Oh, no age ! Does he strike you as an old man ?" 
 
 "Not old, no; but very dignified. I couldn't be- 
 lieve Joyce Cassilis when she told me that he used 
 to try to make love to her. It seemed so utterly 
 unlike him — as I saw him — to be running after a 
 little thing of fifteen. I thought it was just a de- 
 lusion of hers; in fact, something he said to me 
 seemed to prove it was. But perhaps there was some- 
 thing in it after all. What do you think ?" 
 
 "Quite likely," said Magdalen, shrugging her 
 shoulders. "She's pretty enough ; but so frightfully 
 Philistine that nobody of any intelligence would be 
 able to stick her long." 
 
 "Oh, I think she's a dear." 
 
 "Do you really ? I tried to, for a time. But that 
 manner! Can you imagine regarding her in a ro- 
 mantic light ?" 
 
 "Lots of men do. She goes very well."
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 83 
 
 "Soldier boys and so on; yes, it's a fact. But I 
 don't understand it. Captain Corrie told me once 
 that he'd as soon think of kissing a naval Master-at- 
 arms as Joyce; and, according to him, they're not 
 what you might call sentimentalists. However, some 
 people enjoy being rolled in the mud. The more you 
 insult them, the more fascinating they think you. 
 Personally I like girls to be awfully feminine — other 
 girls, anyhow. That's what makes you so irresis1> 
 ible." 
 
 "Joyce has got a boyish manner," Shirley began, 
 in defence of her absent friend. 
 
 "I never could see that she had any manners at 
 all," Magdalen objected; but before the argument 
 could proceed any further, a loud voice broke across 
 the hushed murmur of the room. 
 
 "I'm damned if I do. . . . I'm damned if I do." 
 
 Shirley started violently ; Magdalen looked quickly 
 over her shoulder ; and the two foreigners at the next 
 table were also screwing their heads in the direction 
 of this sudden outcry. 
 
 "I'll see you damned," the voice went on, in a 
 gabble of fury. "JSTo more ! I'm fed with the whole 
 damned thing. ... I won't be quiet. You be 
 damned ! Who are you to tell me to be quiet ? I'm 
 damned if I'll be quiet." 
 
 With the harsh rush of angry words, complete 
 silence fell on the assembly. Such of the lunchers
 
 84 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 as could be seen were all staring the same way, some 
 perturbed, some faintly smiling, some in offended 
 protest. Magdalen turned back towards Shirley and 
 raised her eyebrows in amused curiosity. 
 
 "Hullo !" she said softly. " 'Ark to our Gathorne ! 
 What's gone wrong with him?" 
 
 "Is that Mr. Burrell ?" 
 
 As Magdalen nodded, Gathorne's voice broke out 
 afresh. 
 
 "Yes, you did! Yes, you did! It's a damned 
 lie . . . you did!" 
 
 Ten, twenty seconds of noiseless calm succeeded, 
 and then the subdued murmur of conversation, a 
 trifle increased in vivacity, and the faint tinkle of 
 glass and silver, filled the room once more. Sir Ed- 
 ward's voice had been wholly inaudible during the 
 short controversy. Magdalen looked at her compan- 
 ion's face, which had blushed brightly at the first 
 sound of Burrell's wrath, and immediately after- 
 wards turned white. 
 
 "Why, you were quite frightened, darling," she 
 said, laughing with a sort of tenderness. 
 
 "I thought — I was afraid there was going to be a 
 row." 
 
 "Oh, nobody would dare to have a row with Ed- 
 ward ; and Gathorne must be drunk to cheek him as 
 much as he did. But you see Edward's suppressed 
 him already ; unless he accidentally dammed the flow 
 of his own eloquence."
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 85 
 
 "I do hope he isn't drunk. I hate drunken 
 people." 
 
 "He pretty often is, these times. But don't you 
 worry. He's in good hands; he won't be allowed 
 to make himself a bore. . . . I've been expecting 
 something of this sort, for some time now." 
 
 "Why? I thought they were such friends." 
 
 "So thev are, or were. Edward's as fond of him 
 as he is capable of being of anybody. They were al- 
 ways together for a year or so. But Gathorne's 
 rather a fool. He overdoes everything. When he's 
 trivial, he puts in as much work at playing the goat 
 as if he'd got to complete a contract against time ; and 
 when he's virtuous, which he is in patches, despite all 
 efforts to keep him straight, he takes himself as seri- 
 ously as Jeremiah." 
 
 "Jere-rai-ah ?" repeated Shirley, with the faintly 
 frowning glance at the ceiling which often accom- 
 panies an effort to fit a face and personality to a 
 familiar name. 
 
 "So naturally he knocks his nerves to pieces. He 
 looks pretty washed-out, and he's got a perfect genius 
 for getting himself into hot water. ... If you take 
 a doctor's advice, you must take it whole, mustn't 
 you ? You must follow it more or less closely. If he 
 prescribes a dose of digitalis, it's unreasonable to 
 drink it out of tumblers every day for lunch, and 
 then blame him if it makes you feel cheap. Or if he 
 recommends 'a light diet, you're wrong in supposing
 
 86 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 that he means you to go without food for a fortnight, 
 and then try to balance things by overeating for a 
 week." 
 
 "What doctor does he go to ?" 
 
 "I don't think he's ever been to one in his life, 
 so far. But, if he goes on like this, he'll need the 
 services of two, and a certificate. . . . What would 
 you like after that noisette, Shirley ?" 
 
 "I couldn't eat anything else, truly, thanks very 
 much. Besides, I must be getting back directly." 
 
 "Oh, not yet. Have a zabajone? They make 
 them rather well. Just ten minutes more ... do ! 
 I ought to be going too, then." 
 
 "Really ten minutes, then," Shirley stipulated. 
 
 "In which case, coffee, Giulio," Magdalen told the 
 waiter. "No, don't describe puddings to us. 
 Coffee, like lightning, and some yellow Char- 
 treuse. Will that suit you, darling? No liqueur? 
 Yellow Chartreuse, then; and the bill, at the same 
 time." 
 
 She handed her cigarette case to Shirley; and, 
 blowing a cloud of smoke herself, stared into her 
 friend's eyes. 
 
 "I say ! An idea's just occurred to me. I wonder 
 if you'd be an angel-child, and do me a favour." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "Put me up for the night. I do shy at the idea 
 of the journey to Hackhurst and back. I don't 
 want any meals. You can come and dine with me
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 87 
 
 somewhere ; and I only have a cup of tea in the morn- 
 ing." 
 
 The proposal did not seem to appeal to the other 
 girl, who replied with a troubled politeness. 
 
 "I'm so sorry. I've got such tiny rooms — just 
 my bedroom and sitting-room and the kitchen. I 
 really haven't got a corner for a guest." 
 
 "My dear, I'm not a guest. I can double up with 
 you, or sleep on a sofa, or anything. . . . Oh, don't 
 be formal, Shirley ! It'd be such a lark. We could 
 go to a theatre, or I'd get you into Murray's. Say 
 yes, there's a darling ! I'll be eternally grateful." 
 
 A conciliatory stubbornness took possession of 
 Shirley's face. 
 
 "I would if I could, really ; but, you see, I've had 
 the most awful job to get a servant. Three de- 
 serted me in a fortnight, before this girl came 
 along; and she looks like staying — she's been with 
 me nearly a month. But I told her, when, I en- 
 gaged her, that I never had guests, except perhaps 
 one to tea or dinner, once in a way. . . ." 
 
 "But I shouldn't make any extra work. In fact, 
 I'll help her to make the bed, if she likes." 
 
 "Yes, but you know what servants are, this last 
 year or two. I'm sure she'd walk straight out of 
 the place; and I really can't face looking for 
 another yet." 
 
 "Give her an evening off then, and I'll do the 
 housework," urged Magdalen; and Shirley, looking
 
 88 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 supremely uncomfortable, shewed signs of surrender ; 
 but just then the voice of Gathorne came to her 
 aid. 
 
 "I don't believe a word of it. It wasn't her at 
 all, and you know damned well it wasn't. ... It 
 was a damned dirty trick. . . . Oh, go to Hell ! 
 I'm off; I've had quite enough of you." 
 
 There was the sound of a chair colliding with 
 a screen, as the speaker thrust it away from him, 
 and of a glass knocked into a plate. The head- 
 waiter hurried to the table, and the murmur of 
 Sir Edward's voice could be faintly heard. 
 
 "There! Take for my lunch out of that!" cried 
 Gathorne loudly; and the next moment he stormed 
 past the table at which the two girls were sitting, 
 cannoned lightly off a dumb-waiter, and disappeared 
 through the door. His face was as white as paper, 
 and his eyes blazed ; but he shewed no other signs 
 of intoxication. For a few moments the maitre 
 d'hotel remained in subdued colloquy with Sir Ed- 
 ward. 
 
 "Thank goodness he's gone!" Shirley said, catch- 
 ing her breath. "What an awful temper he was in !" 
 
 She laughed nervously as she met Magdalen's eyes ; 
 but the other preserved an immovable countenance. 
 
 "Then you won't ?" she persisted, returning to the 
 subject of the interrupted discussion. 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry. I really darn't risk it. But 
 I tell you what," hastily added Shirley, avoiding
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 89 
 
 Magdalen's sullen gaze, "why not ask Emily Brook ? 
 They've heaps of room at Bloomsbury Square; 
 enough for a regiment. I can telephone her up for 
 you, if you haven't time, and. . . ." 
 
 "I'm not going to stay with Emily. I can't 
 stand her," Magdalen answered crossly. "I think 
 you're beastly, Shirley." 
 
 Under the imputation of bestiality, Shirley again 
 faltered; but at this moment Sir Edward, on his 
 leisurely way out of the restaurant, perceived his two 
 acquaintances, and approached their table. In his 
 placid face and pleased half-smile of greeting there 
 was no memory of the quarrel which had recently 
 been thrust upon him. 
 
 "How do you do, Miss Cresswell ? It's very 
 nice to see you again. I have been trying to find 
 time to call on you, for the last three weeks; but 
 fate's been against me. Well, Magdalen. . . . 
 You've been quarrelling, I see." 
 
 "Oh, no!" Shirley earnestly cried. 
 
 "And so have I, as I'm afraid you heard. I hope 
 that your estrangement is not final, as ours was, so 
 Gathorne informed me. What a noise he made 
 about it, too, didn't he? Curious fellow! . . . 
 Magdalen, I can't think you mean to be implacable 
 towards such a sensitive person as Miss Cresswell." 
 
 The red-haired girl had already recovered her 
 weary smile, and added to it a new touch of easy- 
 going contempt.
 
 90 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "Oh, reassure yourself, Edward; there's no harm 
 done. I haven't anywhere in London to sleep to- 
 night, and I thought Shirley might give me a shake 
 down; but she's afraid of her skivvy; so I shall 
 have to get back to the country, after all. I'm up 
 for Eton and Harrow, you know. . . . Shirley dear, 
 if you really won't come to Lord's with me — you 
 won't do anything to-day — shall I drop you at the 
 shop on my way?" 
 
 "That would be awfully nice of you," Shirley 
 replied with eager contrition. 
 
 "But I was just going to ask Miss Cresswell if 
 she'd stroll there with me," Sir Edward interposed, 
 his eyes on Magdalen's. "I very much want a 
 word or two with her, if she could spare me a few 
 minutes." 
 
 Shirley looked at her entertainer for permission 
 to agree; and Magdalen withdrew her claims with 
 perfect amiability. Any disappointment that she 
 might have felt at Shirley's refusal of hospitality had 
 passed away, to all appearance, as rapidly as it came. 
 She received thanks for her entertainment with the 
 friendliest protests, kissed her guest fondly, and, as 
 she drove away, continued to wave her hand as long 
 as she was in sight. Sir Edward's face softened 
 into an amused sympathy with this maidenly tender- 
 ness. 
 
 "A pretty, attractive creature — Magdalen," ihe 
 ruminated as he paced along, by Shirley's side, to-
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 91 
 
 wards South Molton Street, "but, I suspect, a little 
 exuberant for jour taste." 
 
 "I'm not much given to hugging and kissing my 
 friends," Shirley confessed. "I suppose I've got a 
 hard nature; anyhow, it makes me feel uncomfor- 
 tably shy, particularly in public. But she's very 
 kind and nice to me — I really can't think why; for 
 we've only met a few times, and I can never think 
 of anything to say to her. And she has heaps of 
 clever friends, and is clever herself." 
 
 "Personalities take hold of us, quite apart from 
 any intellectual affinity," Sir Edward abstractedly 
 remarked. "I myself enjoyed an idyllic friendship 
 of some months, when I was only a few years younger 
 than I am now, with a young Frenchwoman who 
 waited in a small restaurant in Charleston. She 
 was a strong, square-shouldered, thick-ankled girl, 
 with a pale, oval face — placid and kind, but by no 
 means beautiful — and two queer dark corkscrew curls 
 dangling at her cheeks. She knew nothing and had 
 no conversation. I was very fond of her. . . . Poor 
 Eose! . . . You have my full permission to laugh, 
 Miss Cress well. As you see, I am hardly the type of 
 man that makes a habit of flirting with servants and 
 barmaids." 
 
 "But I don't want to laugh. I think it was 
 nice." 
 
 "Most of us feel at times the need of somebody 
 or something to sentimentalise over a little, however 

 
 92 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 unsentimental we may ordinarily be. Magdalen has 
 no sister, no intimate girl-friend, I fancy ; not even 
 a cat or a dog. She might, of course, have a lover, 
 if she chose; but that is not the same thing. So 
 she has made a little niche for the reception of your 
 image. I should say that it is likely to remain 
 empty, however. . . . And how have you been get- 
 ting on? Have you thought any more of our talk 
 in the grove of Silvanus ?" 
 
 "Often." 
 
 "Are you still in the same state of mind? Am 
 I to be allowed to help you?" 
 
 "It's very kind of you." 
 
 "No kinder than for a doctor to take up a case." 
 
 "But he gets paid for it." 
 
 "Not necessarily ; and in any case, if he's worthy 
 of the style of doctor at all, the essence of his pleasure 
 lies in the cure and not the fee. For that matter, I 
 shall be paid, and overpaid, by the privilege of your 
 company." 
 
 The girl laughed at the compliment, but blushed 
 a little at the same time. Sir Edward smiled good- 
 humouredly. 
 
 "You think me dreadfully old-fashioned; and I 
 myself, notice a tendency to a sort of ponderous 
 formality in my speech. I think it must be an 
 unintentional reaction from the brutality of manner 
 which most of our young Englishmen have prided 
 themselves on during the last few years. I must
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 93 
 
 try to strike a medium. Meanwhile, we are to be 
 friends, I hope." 
 
 "I should like to be." 
 
 "Good! And, to begin with, shall we clear a 
 tiresome obstruction to intimacy out of the way, 
 and agree to call each other by our Christian names ?" 
 
 "All right; but I'm sure I shan't be able to 
 think of you as anything but Sir Edward." 
 
 "How very discouraging ! One feels quite senile. 
 Well, Shirley, you must please yourself about that. 
 Whatever comes naturally to you will be what I 
 prefer. And here is Delbruck's, where I suppose I 
 must say goocl-bye. When can we have a long talk V 9 
 
 "Will you come to tea, some Saturday or Sun- 
 day, about half past four? Or are you going out 
 of London again at once?" 
 
 "I shall be ;p and down . . . Saturday is nearer 
 than Sunday. May I come then ? Yes, I have your 
 address. And then we'll take the thing in hand 
 seriously." 
 
 "I'm sure I shall be*verv interested." 
 
 "I think you will ; and, if you are, I can guarantee 
 that you'll be immeasurably happier. Till Satur- 
 dav, then." 
 
 Shirley nodded pleasantly and vanished into the 
 gloom of the private entrance; while Sir Edward, 
 settling his hat with a slight shake of the head, re- 
 traced his steps, in grave thought, towards Bond 
 (Street.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 OUTSIDE, in the hall, a meditative clock quietly 
 recorded the hour of seven; and Shirley- 
 checked its accuracy with a glance at her watch- 
 bracelet. 
 
 "I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to go before 
 long," she said. "You won't mind, will you ? I'm 
 going out to dinner, and I shall have to dress pretty 
 soon." 
 
 Sir Edward lay on a low divan beside the fire, 
 watching Shirley with his expressionless eyes, as 
 she sat in her arm-chair beside the small tea-table, 
 her feet tucked under her. Upright on its haunches, 
 with its fore-paws touching the fender, a sleek tabby 
 cat stared unwinkingly into the dancing flames. 
 
 The room was of no great size, plainly and sparely 
 furnished, its walls hung with a patternless paper of 
 an. indeterminate blue-grey. There were no pictures, 
 pottery, polished brass or silver ; no piano ; not even 
 a clock on the mantel, which bore no more than a card- 
 board box of cigarettes, and a few other trifles of 
 daily use which seemed to have found their way there 
 by accident. But the carpets on the floor and the 
 divan, the heavy curtains which hid the window, 
 
 the shawls which covered the two easy-chairs, and 
 
 94
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 95 
 
 Shirley's own robe of Chinese embroidery, smoul- 
 dered and flamed with colour, and told of a passion 
 for splendid fabrics, thrown up against an austere 
 background. The effect produced was agreeably dif- 
 ferent from that of other London middle-class draw- 
 ing-rooms, with their shiny furniture, gleaming mir- 
 rors and photograph-frames, trivial German china, 
 negligible water-colour drawings, and more or less 
 unclean and crumpled hangings and cretonnes. On 
 the writing-flap of an open bureau there was a por- 
 celain bowl of big yellow chrysanthemums. 
 
 The man shifted lazily on his couch, for the air 
 was drowsy with silence, tobacco-smoke and the 
 warmth of the chuckling fire. 
 
 "At once?" 
 
 "Oh no ! Ten minutes, or quarter of an hour. 
 That'll give me time enough." 
 
 "I was hoping you were free for dinner. I've 
 hardly seen you, this last week. Where are you din- 
 ing?" 
 
 "With Joyce." 
 
 "Joyce? . . . Put her off, and spend the evening 
 with me." 
 
 "I can't very well. She's alone to-night. Mr. 
 and Mrs. Cassilis are going out; and I promised her 
 I'd come, three or four days ago." 
 
 "Yes ? You're often with her, aren't you ?" 
 
 "Fairly often." 
 
 "What do you see in her, if one may ask ?"
 
 96 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "See in her ? She's talkative and funny and cheer- 
 ful, and she likes me." 
 
 "And that's all?" 
 
 "What else does one see in people ?" asked Shirley, 
 laughing. "Of course, I know that you want your 
 friends to be clever. But then you're clever your- 
 self, and I'm not. Hilarious idiocy's good enough 
 for me ; not that Joyce is idiotic, by a long way, ex- 
 cept when she chooses to be. She's got twice my 
 brains." 
 
 "Yet you and I are friends." 
 
 "Yes. I don't quite understand that." 
 
 "You don't V He settled himself among the cush- 
 ions, as if to make the most of his ten minutes. 
 "Shirley," he went on, "do you never remember any- 
 thing ? You've lately achieved a degree of volatility 
 that I should hardly have thought possible. I tell 
 you a dozen times of the difference in quality be- 
 tween your nature and that of Joyce and her circle. 
 You seem to understand me, at the time; and an 
 hour later you come back to me with humble praise 
 of the city sharpness which impresses commonplace 
 people." 
 
 "I remember all right ; but, you see, you've never 
 really succeeded in convincing me that I've got any- 
 thing in me, beyond a sort of instinct for dress ; and 
 sharpness is better than nothing, although naturally 
 it's not as good as real cleverness, like yours." 
 
 "My cleverness, as you call it, can't amount to
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 97 
 
 much, if I'm so hopelessly incapable of judging you." 
 
 "But surely I must know myself better than any- 
 one else can, even you. All the same, I think it's 
 very nice of you to go on believing in me, particu- 
 larly as you say that I'm not getting on anything 
 like as well as you expected." 
 
 "I know you," he insisted, "far better than you 
 know yourself; and I tell you that you're worthy of 
 better company than that stupid little girl and her 
 stupid little girl friends and her chuckleheaded boy 
 admirers. As for getting on, you don't try to get 
 on." 
 
 "Oh, I do!" 
 
 He shook his head amiably. 
 
 "I do," she persisted. "And I have learnt a lot, 
 considering. I'm ever so much steadier and happier 
 since I knew you; and I'm awfully grateful. If 
 you hadn't helped me, I should probably have made 
 myself miserable for years over what's past You 
 can see yourself how different I am." 
 
 "My statement was that you don't try to get on, 
 not that you didn't try to get on," he distinguished. 
 "Up to a point, you were a good girl enough ; and it 
 seemed that my first estimate of you was absolutely 
 right; but it wasn't. It never occurred to me that 
 you were likely to give so much trouble — to be so 
 unaccountably recalcitrant. You have the brains; 
 you have the temperament ; you appear to be as anx- 
 ious to please as a puppy. And beneath it all lies a
 
 98 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 strain of stubborn triviality which utterly defeats 
 
 me." 
 
 "I'm so sorry," Shirley answered, with an ingra- 
 tiating penitence. "I did warn you, didn't I ?" 
 
 "Not at all. You said you were silly, which isn't 
 true. What you really lack is pluck and energy. 
 You find it less risky and exhausting to stick to the 
 worn paths, however ugly and stony. At first sight 
 I read more of the spirit of enterprise into you." 
 
 She hung her head mutely before this passionless 
 rebuke. 
 
 "We've been fairly intimate now," he continued, 
 "for over four months ; and you agree that our friend- 
 ship has resulted in giving you a less hopeless out- 
 look. September and October pass. The introduc- 
 tory stages are past; I am just waiting for you to 
 take the next step, when you suddenly pull up dead, 
 and declare that you are not yet ready to go any fur- 
 ther. To be sure, you're at liberty to drop your en- 
 quiries at any point you like; I've always admitted 
 that. But you will neither say definitely that you 
 don't want my guidance any more, nor follow where 
 I try to lead you. If one has offered to take a 
 friend to the top of Mont Blanc, one may be par- 
 doned for objecting to settle down permanently at 
 the Grands Mulets. The obvious alternatives are to 
 finish the climb, or call the whole affair off. You 
 trust me very little, Shirley ; yet the mere fact of my 
 persistence ought to reassure you. Beyond the pleas-
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 99 
 
 lire of watching your growth, there can be no pos- 
 sible reason for taking so much trouble. If I had 
 not been fond of you, I should have given you up in 
 despair before now." 
 
 As his cool voice ceased, the girl spoke with a hur- 
 ried uneasiness. 
 
 "It's not you, it's myself that I don't trust. 
 Whatever you say, I'm rather a fool. There's some- 
 thing in me, something I can't get rid of, which shies 
 at once at any idea of taking anything too seriously. 
 Even going to church, before I was grown up, used 
 to embarrass me. It made me feel so silly to bow 
 in the Creed, and wait with my face hidden, after 
 the service, until I heard the rustle of people getting 
 up, and eat bits of bread out of the palms of my 
 hands, and all that. Of course, I know the real sil- 
 liness is to think it silly ; but I can't help it — that's 
 how I'm made. I couldn't possibly say that I don't 
 want your help and friendship any more, because I 
 do. But I'm afraid I shall never be a credit to you ; 
 and honestly I think it would be better not to try .to 
 take me any further than I'm suited for; that is if 
 you can bear me as I am." 
 
 "You must please yourself," he said carelessly. 
 "I needn't apologise for saying that I should have 
 liked you to go further, if you had felt inclined. 
 I'm fond of you, and your company's been a great 
 pleasure to me. So far as 'bearing you as you now 
 are' goes, no doubt we shall go on meeting as friends ;
 
 100 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 but you will understand that, from my point of 
 view, much of the interest will be knocked out of our 
 association. Inertia does not appeal to me greatly ; 
 constant adventure seems to me the very salt of in- 
 timacy. It was almost wholly because I foresaw that 
 I could rescue you from your condition of resolute 
 hopelessness that I forced my acquaintance on you." 
 
 "Well, and I'm not hopeless now," she argued un- 
 easily. 
 
 "You are neither hopeless nor hopeful. What 
 you've learnt, so far, has been negative and destruc- 
 tive. You can see through many of the illusions 
 and prejudices that spoil life for most of us. That 
 is a necessary first step, but a short one. You no 
 longer have to set your teeth to bear the pain, for 
 you feel no pain ; but, on the other hand, you scarcely 
 feel pleasure. You are almost apathetic. I had 
 hoped to make my friend more than merely callous." 
 
 "You're wrong; really you are. I enjoy myself 
 lots." 
 
 "Why, you get a certain amount of contentment 
 out of a book, a sunny day, a theatre — yes. That's 
 not quite what I meant. The great emotions hardly 
 seem desirable to you — triumph, love, fear and so on. 
 At your age, with your possibilities, you have made 
 comfort and peace your ideals. You avoid knowl- 
 edge. Scepticism has become your god ; though you 
 still pay public homage to modern British morality. 
 You are like some African convert to Christianity,
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 101 
 
 who still keeps his ju-ju at home for secret devotions. 
 Many of the ideas that I have suggested to you in 
 bare outline, you have privately rejected in your own 
 mind, as unreasonably rebellious against the opinion 
 of the majority. Oh, yes, yes! You don't realise 
 what a tell-tale face you have." 
 
 "Some of them I didn't understand. So I 
 couldn't agree with them, could I ? But it was no 
 more than that" 
 
 "Put it at that. You never will understand, un- 
 less you are willing to learn. Long ago I told you 
 that reason is only one of the paths to knowledge. 
 What shocks and surprises the reason may yet in 
 fact be perfectly acceptable and desirable. My am- 
 bition was to give you energy as well as peace; to 
 teach you to act, no less than to repose. I have come 
 to the point at which the multiplication table and 
 the rules of formal logic fail me ; and there you elect 
 to stop." 
 
 "Would you really rather — very much rather — I 
 went on ?" she asked pleadingly. 
 
 "You must please yourself," he repeated in his 
 changeless voice. 
 
 Shirley's expressive eyes sought the emptily crys- 
 talline ones of Sir Edward in anxious enquiry ; and 
 for quite half a minute neither moved or spoke. 
 
 "You must please yourself," he said, a third time, 
 smiling gently and returning her gaze. 
 
 "What am I to do ?" she asked.
 
 102 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "Do ?" 
 
 "Yes," she said fretfully. "There's some sort of 
 a ceremony, isn't there ?" 
 
 "Oh! So you've decided against stagnation? 
 You're certain it's your own wish ? Not merely a 
 surrender to my disappointment? I couldn't bear 
 to urge you against your inclinations." 
 
 "Yes," she said, still looking at him intently, while 
 a touch of colour came into her cheeks, and her lips 
 parted slightly. "Yes. Now I've begun, it'd be 
 stupid and cowardly to stop, wouldn't it ?" 
 
 "I congratulate you on your good judgment," he 
 replied, with as near an approach to heartiness as his 
 rather remote tranquillity could be expected to 
 achieve. "And, selfishly, I'm very glad ; for I own 
 that I have looked forward greatly to you becoming 
 one of us. There is something discouraging in the 
 sight of so interesting a nature as yours obstinately 
 refusing life, and clinging to a faithless indif- 
 ference." 
 
 "How do I become ... one of you?" Shirley 
 again enquired, with so audible a note of nervousness 
 that Sir Edward's expression changed to one of 
 amusement. "I don't know what your . . . your 
 services are like, in the least . . . what you do." 
 
 "Are you afraid, like Verdant Green, that you will 
 have to submit to being branded with a red-hot poker ? 
 What a funny girl you are ! Do I look like Torque- 
 mada ?"
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 103 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "A very good answer. Nor do I ; and, on second 
 thoughts, I should think it's quite possible that he 
 was my living image. Well, it comes to this: you 
 must make up your mind whether you can trust me 
 or not." 
 
 "Can't you give me some sort of idea of what 
 happens ?" 
 
 "Certainly. A number of us assemble in a suit- 
 able place and perform appropriate rites. You will 
 attend as a spectator; and afterwards you will have 
 an opportunity of being initiated yourself." 
 
 "But I needn't?" 
 
 "You needn't. I should like to suggest, however, 
 that it would be better to stay away, unless you think 
 there's a reasonable prospect of your wishing to join 
 us. We are not running a variety entertainment, 
 you understand." 
 
 "And that's all you can tell me ?" 
 
 "That's all I can tell an outsider; and you are an 
 outsider at present. You will see that you are not 
 bound in any way." 
 
 After a period of downcast reflection, Shirley 
 sighed. 
 
 "All right. Of course, I do trust you; it'd be 
 beastly not to, when I know you so well, and you've 
 been so nice. When will it be ?" 
 
 "That I'll let you know in a few days. Perhaps 
 in a fortnight or so, at my country place. I will ar-
 
 104 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 range it for a Saturday or Sunday evening, so as 
 not to interfere with your work; and there will be 
 other women staying with me, to keep you company. 
 This is a most pleasant surprise, Shirley ; I began to 
 make sure I'd lost you." 
 
 "Would that have mattered?" she asked, with a 
 return of her dissatisfied manner. 
 
 He looked at her for some seconds without answer- 
 ing, and then laughed softly as he rose from the 
 divan and came towards her. 
 
 "Very much indeed. . . . And now I see that I've 
 exceeded my quarter of an hour, and probably made 
 you late for your appointment. Good-bye !" 
 
 "When shall I see you next ?" 
 
 "I'm not certain. Possibly not until we meet in 
 the country ; in which case I'll let you know all the 
 arrangements by letter. You won't change your 
 mind again? You will come?" 
 
 "Yes," she said obediently, "I'll come." 
 
 An hour later she was seated beside Joyce at one 
 end of a long, shining mahogany table in the Palace 
 Green dining-room, listening to her friend's appre- 
 ciations of various common acquaintances. A little 
 butler hovered, like a grey moth, about the bright- 
 ness of the two girls, anxiously preventing them in 
 all their doings; but his voiceless presence had no 
 restraining influence on the incautious tongue of his 
 employer's daughter. 
 
 "And those are the people that Mummy enjoys,"
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 105 
 
 she summed up scathingly, at the time when the ser- 
 vant was handing the coffee. "She isn't a bit odd 
 herself, or if she is, I don't see it. ..." 
 
 "Not in the least." 
 
 "And yet she likes to surround herself with mon- 
 sters. I don't believe we've got anybody in our ad- 
 dress book who hasn't a rat or two in the upper storey, 
 except you, and a few boys that I asked here, and 
 Daddy's business friends, who talk arithmetic all 
 the time." 
 
 "Well, you know, I think myself that moderately 
 crazy people are better fun than entirely sane ones." 
 
 "I don't . . . And most of ours are such out- 
 siders, too. Now yesterday, for instance, Kitty 
 Egerton came to tea, and brought a man with her — 
 I haven't yet discovered who he was ; some sort of 
 middle-aged celebrity, who was by way of being an 
 old friend of hers and her husband's — you know she 
 only married that idiotic Egerton boy last June. 
 Mummy was delighted to see him, of course ; and he 
 began to make himself useful by handing the tea- 
 cake ; and the plate was white-hot, and burnt him to 
 the bone. I was rather glad; he was a red-faced, 
 swimmy-eyed, over-smiling sort of creature. By- 
 and-by Kitty was going to pick the plate up ; and he 
 sang out: 'Don't touch it, darling!' . . . Every- 
 body sat up, and Mummy looked out of the corner of 
 her eyes at old Lady Price, who's Arthur Egerton's 
 aunt, who is supposed to be going to leave him her
 
 106 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 money ; but she didn't seem to have heard anything, 
 and you could see everyone breathe again with re- 
 lief. The fool of a man tried to make out he'd said 
 'boiling' ; and went on, over and over again : 'Don't 
 touch ! It's barling — absolutely barling.' Kitty 
 was the colour of a tomato, and giggled at everything 
 that was said for the next ten minutes. The man left 
 before she did ; I suppose he thought it'd look better, 
 after that; and Kitty began to suck up to Lady 
 Price, asking her to come to dinner and meet some 
 famous general or other — 'Such a delightful man!' 
 'Really V said old Price, with a ghastly stare. 'And 
 does he call you darling, too V . . . But it is rather 
 the frozen edge, isn't it ? Six months married, and 
 doing the 'dear Arthur' touch all day, in public." 
 
 "Perhaps the man had known her when she was 
 a child," Shirley charitably suggested. 
 
 "Perhaps he had. They called each other 'Mrs. 
 Egerton' and 'Mr. Thingumybob' ; but that may only 
 have been a form of humour. . . . Then there was 
 that girl from the Stock Theatre, that all the high- 
 brows rave about. She came, too." 
 
 "Claire Trenchard V 
 
 "No; the other — the comic one; Julia Crisp. 
 Mummy begged her to recite something. I knew 
 what it would be. She goes in for too delightful 
 imitations of the Lower Classes. It always strikes 
 me as about as clever as it would be if Rita Salomon 
 was to give an imitation of a Jew. So when she'd
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 107 
 
 said: 'Oh, dear Mrs. Cassilis, I don't think I 
 could,' once or twice, she sang a perfectly beastly 
 song. It wasn't a bit funny ; only blasphemous and 
 disgusting. And there was Mrs. Lampson — you 
 know; that frumpy old crone from Carlton House 
 Terrace, who used to be at school with Mummy — 
 jumping up and down in her chair, wrestling with 
 Mummy to get away, and saying quite loudly : 'No, 
 Adela; no, dear Adela, no! I cannot sit here and 
 listen to such things. No, Adela dear, I can not,' 
 poor Mummy all the time trying to persuade her, in 
 whispers, that it was so quaint and so wonderfully 
 clever, and begging her not to make a scene about it. 
 Of course, she didn't really like it herself much bet- 
 ter than Mrs. Lampson did ; and she told Julia Crisp 
 privately afterwards that it was rather a naughty 
 little song, and she was afraid some of her friends 
 were a trifle shocked. 'Oh, reaaally?' Julia Crisp 
 said in that cold, offensive way of hers. 'It never 
 occurred to me that I'd wandered into the company 
 of people who were waiting to be shocked; or nat- 
 urally I should have resisted your kind invitation 
 to me to entertain your guests.' So she got the griev- 
 ance for herself, and Mummy was quite apologetic. 
 Poor darling ! she's always so indulgent with anyone 
 that she thinks is a genius. A week or two ago she 
 discovered that Terence Soulis knew Batiste, that 
 French composer, you know; and beseeched him to 
 bring him along one evening, when she was 'at home/
 
 108 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 and introduce him. So Soulis brought him, in a 
 filthy old tweed suit, and absolutely blind drunk; 
 and he did nothing more interesting all the evening 
 than sit on a sofa, and squint at us so horribly that 
 I saw my own nose, for days after, just out of sym- 
 pathy. Mrs. Simon, who's a Catholic, passed most of 
 the time crossing herself; but Mummy was awfully 
 flattered at him having come, though he couldn't pos- 
 sibly have known where he was ; and when Soulis 
 was helping him out, she thanked him warmly, and 
 said how delightful it had been. And then there's 
 Tristan Braun, who's really and literally barmy on 
 the crumpet — he's been locked up more than once — 
 and shouts and screams and breaks things when he 
 begins to get excited. . . . You see, it isn't as if we 
 only knew a few freaks. They simply swarm here: 
 that revolting old Lewis, who's always talking about 
 the ideal proportions of womanhood, and wanting 
 to measure all the girls he's introduced to ; and Ed- 
 ward Talbot — oh, I forgot ! He's a friend of yours 
 nowadays, isn't he ?" 
 
 "Yes, I like him very much," Shirley stoutly af- 
 firmed. 
 
 "I wonder why on earth ?" 
 
 Shirley laughed. 
 
 "He wonders why I like you, Joyce." 
 
 "Did you tell him ? Well then, now tell me why 
 you like Mm." 
 
 "Because he's very clever and interesting and
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 109 
 
 kind. He's helped me a lot — How? Oh, with ad- 
 vice and so on. I don't mean that he's paid off 
 bills for me." 
 
 "Does he make love to you ?" 
 
 "Of course not ! There's never been the faintest 
 suggestion of such a thing, though we've met lots 
 and lots of times." 
 
 "Oh ? What's his game, I wonder ?" Joyce specu- 
 lated. 
 
 "Don't you believe that a man and woman are 
 ever just friends, then ?" Shirley asked, with a note 
 of faint indignation. 
 
 "Yes, often. But Edward !" 
 
 "But what have you got against him ? Only that 
 he behaved rather stupidly to you when you first 
 met him. Why, he was quite middle-aged then, and 
 you were only fifteen. No doubt he thought of you 
 as a small kid. Anyhow, I've probably spent far 
 more hours alone with him than you ever have — you 
 told me that he hardly says a word to you nowadays 
 — and he's always behaved extraordinary nicely and 
 politely to me. If he was the sort of man you make 
 him out to be, why should he waste his time on me 
 at all ?" 
 
 "I don't know; but I bet you'll find out before 
 long." 
 
 "Joyce, you really are unfair. I can't think why 
 you've got your knife into him, like this." 
 
 "I don't like his friends," Joyce explained, in the
 
 110 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 intervals of a new meal of chocolate creams, which 
 she had begun after finishing her coffee, "and I don't 
 like his ears." 
 
 Shirley gave a distinct start, looked at her friend 
 gravely for a few seconds, and then smiled again. 
 
 "That's odd," she said. "Do you know? I 
 couldn't get over them altogether, for a little. I hate 
 anything wrong physically, don't you? But after 
 all, this is a very small thing, hardly noticeable. I 
 never think of it now. And, in any case, I never 
 heard that short ears had a bad effect on one's 
 morals. Pan and his satyrs and centaurs had un- 
 usually long ones, hadn't they? And none of them 
 were any good. . . . Father used to tell me a story 
 once, I remember, of Pan's secret about his ears be- 
 ing given away by someone or other to the reeds 
 beside the river which they both lived in. He had 
 to tell someone, you see, or something; because he 
 was the only person who knew, and couldn't keep 
 it in. Of course he thought the reeds were quite 
 safe ; but they turned into a nymph, called Daphne, 
 who was so frightened at what she'd heard that she 
 ran away to Jupiter for protection, and he turned 
 her into a bird — a swallow. I'm not quite sure 
 what happened after that; but I think the two 
 gods had a sort of musical competition for her — 
 the one who played the lyre best, to get her; and 
 one of them skinned the other alive — I don't re- 
 member why."
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 111 
 
 The recollection of these old-world stories was 
 clearly pleasant to Shirley, for her eyes grew dark 
 with interest. 
 
 "All the same, I hate his ears," Joyce persisted, 
 "and I don't like the people he's always about with 
 any better." 
 
 "You mayn't like them; but you don't know any 
 actual harm of them, do you? They strike me as 
 rather an affected set, that's all; and Sir Edward's 
 not even affected." 
 
 "But that's iwt all," the younger girl maintained ; 
 and paused, for some moments, in thought, before 
 adding, with a sudden frown and a reddening of 
 the cheeks: "I'm going to tell you something that 
 I never meant to talk about to anybody. But you 
 ought to know it, before you get too thick with 
 Edward." 
 
 "What?" cried Shirley, in quite a panic-stricken 
 way. 
 
 "You remember Gathorne Burrell, down at Over- 
 bourne ?" 
 
 "Of course; and I've seen him since, though he 
 hasn't spoken to me." 
 
 "He used to be nice, when Edward first brought 
 him to see us," Joyce continued, with a dogged de- 
 fiance of voice and face. "He behaved decently 
 and amused us all; and he seemed to want to be 
 friends with me. And then he's still very good- 
 looking, don't you think? . . . Beast!"
 
 112 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 «i 
 
 'Why, what's he done?" 
 
 Joyce's round face grew even darker in colour, 
 and her eyes blazed blue fire, while the pupils con- 
 tracted to mere specks of black. 
 
 "I'm going to tell you. . . . He'd been getting 
 horrid for some time; dull and bored and rude. 
 Sometimes he was so odd that I wondered if he was 
 all there; and now and again I've seen him half 
 drunk. Still, we hadn't actually had a row of any 
 sort; and after I made friends with Billy Lovat, 
 I didn't bother much about him, or he about me. 
 You remember what he was like at Overbourne — 
 generally half asleep." 
 
 The other girl nodded, but refrained from inter- 
 ruption; and, with some obvious angry hesitation, 
 Joyce continued. 
 
 "Well, soon after you were there, Edward in- 
 vited Daddy and Mummy and me to stay with him. 
 He'd just got into his new house. Have you ever 
 been there?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "It's rather nice — Georgian — on the side of a 
 hill, with trees at the back and sides; and you 
 can see the sea from the front windows, a mile 
 or two away. I haven't any idea what direction 
 it's in, because we had the car shut, going down, 
 as it was raining; but I think Rye's the nearest 
 town, wherever Rye may be. . . . Oh, I don't 
 think I'll tell you, after all."
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 113 
 
 Apparently she had wandered off into these de- 
 scriptive particulars out of unwillingness to approach 
 the disclosure, and her courage now definitely failed 
 her. The cry of outraged curiosity with which 
 Shirley greeted her last words, however, gave her 
 the necessary stimulus to complete the story. 
 
 "There were only a few people, beside ourselves : 
 Gathorne and the Jacinth-Bumpus horror and a 
 couple of Mrs. Somethings that I'd never seen be- 
 fore, both rather painty, and dne pretty. It was 
 awfully dull. There didn't seem to be anybody to 
 talk to but Gathorne, and as I knew what he was 
 like nowadays, I made up my mind to pass most 
 of the time reading a ripping book of Mabel Barnes- 
 Grundy's that I'd brought with me. However, Ga- 
 thorne bucked up tremendously, soon after we ar- 
 rived, and was really quite amusing. I was rather 
 angry with him, the third day we were there, when 
 he tried to put his arm around me while we were 
 walking in the garden alone, after dinner. Still, I 
 thought he was only ragging, so I just shoved him 
 off and told him not to be a fool; and we went 
 on talking ordinarily. . . . That night . . . you'll 
 never believe this, Shirley." 
 
 "Go on," Shirley begged, with lips and eyes of 
 anticipatory horror. 
 
 "I'd gone to bed. I'd been asleep," Joyce con- 
 tinued hurriedly, frowning at the finger-glass be- 
 fore her. "My room had two doors, one on to the
 
 114 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 passage, and one into another room — I didn't know 
 whose, but it wasn't either Mummy's or Daddy's. 
 They were on the floor below. The key was on 
 my side, and I tried it, the night I came, to make 
 sure the door was locked; and it was. I'm pretty 
 sure I tried it again the next night, too, but, I 
 wouldn't swear. I had a nightlight, as usual, on 
 the washing-stand. ... I don't know what time it 
 was, when something woke me up with a start, and 
 I sat up in bed. The door into the next room was 
 opening." 
 
 "Joyce, how awful ! I should have died." 
 "I was pretty terrified. It opened quite slowly, 
 and Gathorne put his head in, and nodded at me 
 and smiled, without saying anything. I called out: 
 'What is it? What's the matter?' and he onlv 
 screwed up his mouth as if he was saying 'Ssh !' and 
 then smiled again and came right into the room. 
 He looked half foxed; but, what was far worse, he 
 seemed to expect that I should be glad to see him. 
 That frightened me so that I skipped straight out of 
 bed, in my pyjamas, and ran at him saying: 'Get 
 out of my room at once !' He tried to hold the door 
 for a second, but I told him I'd yell the house down 
 if he didn't let go; so then he did, and I slammed 
 the door on him, and felt for the key. It was 
 still there, and I locked the door, and shoved a lot 
 of things up against it, and did the same to the other 
 door, and got back into bed to think. First I
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 115 
 
 thought I'd go and sleep with Mummy. That would 
 have meant telling her all about it, and — I don't 
 know — I wasn't up to it; not that I cared about 
 getting that beastly devil into trouble, but I didn't 
 feel I could ever tell anybody. . . . Filthy, hor- 
 rible swine! ... I couldn't go to sleep again all 
 night, though I wasn't really afraid of him coming 
 back. But just remembering what he'd looked like 
 made me feel sick — red in the face and rather mad 
 and awfully pleased with himself. He had on yel- 
 low pyjamas. ... If Billy Lovat knew about it, 
 he'd kill him." 
 
 "But what happened next day ?" 
 "Well, I dressed as soon as it was light, and sat 
 at my window; and, about half past eight, I saw 
 Gathorne come into the garden alone. I was so 
 furious at the sight of him that I ran straight out 
 of the house, and caught him crossing the lawn. I 
 said : 'If you don't clear out of here before break- 
 fast, I'll tell everybody at the table about last night' 
 He stared at me, as if he thought it was all a joke; 
 so I told him: 'I mean it; and don't you ever 
 come near our house again, either, if you want it 
 kept dark.' He still went on smiling in a maddening 
 way, so*I said that if he'd meant it as a rag, it 
 wasn't the sort of rag I'd stand; and I thought he 
 was a disgusting cad, and I'd never speak to him 
 again. Then he did look a bit flustered and puzzled ; 
 and what do you suppose he said?"
 
 116 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "I can't imagine." 
 
 " 'Why'd you left the door ajar, then, and a light 
 burning V " 
 
 "Do you mean he actually dared to hint 
 that . . . ?" 
 
 "I don't know. But I told him that he was a 
 liar, and he'd better not turn up to breakfast. As 
 I was going away, he tried to catch hold of me and 
 say something else; but I hit him on the nose, and 
 he let me go. Sure enough, we didn't see any more 
 of him before we left. Edward said he'd been sud- 
 denly called away to London. He hasn't been near 
 us since." 
 
 She drew a long breath, pushed back her straight 
 yellow fringe, as if emerging from a dive, smoothed 
 it down again, and began to nibble at a chocolate, 
 while the bright colour faded from her forehead and 
 neck. 
 
 "What a brute!" Shirley indignantly sympathised. 
 
 "So now you see," Joyce warned her. 
 
 "What ? Oh, Sir Edward ! Why, how's he any 
 more to blame for Mr. Burrell's behaviour than — 
 well, than your father, for instance? They're both 
 friends of his." 
 
 "I'm perfectly certain it was all Edward's fault." 
 
 "Joyce, dear! How could it possibly be?" 
 
 "I believe Gathorne was a decent enough fellow, 
 before he knew Edward." 
 
 "You believe!"
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 117 
 
 "Lots of people have told me so. Besides, look 
 at Edward's other friends ! And that's not all. Just 
 before I left him in the garden, he was muttering 
 something about: 'Who did leave it open, if you 
 didn't? Edward was sure you would one night, 
 before long.' " 
 
 "You mean to say you'd believe such a creature 
 as that, after the wav he'd behaved? Of course it 
 was just a mean attempt to shift part of the blame 
 on somebody else." 
 
 "Why did Edward put us in rooms that communi- 
 cated?" Joyce argued. "There are plenty of rooms 
 in the house. I should think half of them were 
 empty. And who did open that door? I'm sure 
 it wasn't Gathorne ; I believe he really was surprised 
 to find it open — not that it's any excuse for him, of 
 course. . . . Oh, I know I can't prove anything ; but 
 I'm as certain as I sit here that Edward arranged 
 the whole thing." 
 
 "How can you talk such nonsense?" protested 
 Shirley. "What in the world should he do it for?" 
 
 "I don't know. Perhaps he's always had a grudge 
 against me for not being much interested in him. 
 He's frightfully vain." 
 
 "Well, I think you're very unfair and bitter about 
 him. Mr. Burrell behaved revoltingly, and I'm quite 
 sure Sir Edward would be as angry with him as any- 
 body, if he knew. ... In fact," she added, with a 
 sudden expression of reminiscence, "I know they
 
 118 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 have quarrelled. Perhaps Sir Edward does know. 
 They were sitting near me at a restaurant, a long 
 time ago now; only a few weeks after I first met 
 them ; and they had an awful row, and Mr. Burrell 
 sprang up and stamped out of the room in a rage." 
 
 "Oh ?" said Joyce curiously. "Did you hear what 
 they said at all ?" 
 
 "Only a few words. I don't remember anything." 
 
 "Perhaps it was about me," Joyce ruminated. "If 
 it was, probably Gathorne was blowing up Edward 
 for getting him into a mess." 
 
 "Oh Joyce, you really are ridiculous! You've 
 got quite a mania on the subject." 
 
 "All right!" Joyce surrendered, shrugging her 
 shoulders with a sort of angry resignation. "All 
 I know is that nothing would persuade me to go 
 and stay in his house again ; and if you've got any 
 sense, you won't trust him farther than you can see 
 him." 
 
 "I trust him entirely ; and I'm going to stay with 
 him in a week or two." 
 
 "You're not? Alone?" 
 
 "Alone? Of course not. He's having a party, 
 and I'm asked." 
 
 Joyce looked genuinely uneasy. 
 
 "Honestly I wish you wouldn't. I hate that man." 
 
 "I know you do ; but I know him very well, and 
 like him."
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 119 
 
 "But truly he hasn't any sort of reputation. 
 Everybody sniffs at once, when they hear that a girl 
 is a friend of his." 
 
 "I don't care a bit about that. I'm not going 
 to give up a good friend just because people sniff — 
 which is a nasty trick, anyhow." 
 
 "What's the matter with you, Shirley?" asked 
 the younger girl, with new curiosity. "I didn't 
 know you could be angry. You're not in love with 
 that old creature, are you?" 
 
 "Not in the slightest degree. Only I don't care 
 for scandal about my friends, with no sort of founda- 
 tion." 
 
 "There's foundation enough, if one chooses to dig 
 it out. So far, I haven't bothered to look for it; 
 but I've heard hints enough, goodness knows. Look 
 here! If I can find out something definite against 
 him, will you promise to chuck him ?" 
 
 "Why are you so keen about it? I'm not going 
 to inflict him on you; and surely, at my age, I can 
 choose my own friends. If he turned out a bad 
 character, I should naturally avoid him; but I can't 
 see any reason for trying to manufacture a case 
 against a man who goes everywhere and knows every- 
 body and seems to be thought a lot of." 
 
 "Yes, but will you promise?" 
 
 "I won't promise anything," said Shirley, with 
 a fling of impatience; and then laughing, with her
 
 120 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 customary pleasantness: "Do let's talk of some- 
 thing else! I'm quite sick of the subject of Sir 
 Edward." 
 
 "Kight-oh !" Joyce agreed, in cynical indifference. 
 "Let's go upstairs and play the gramophone. I've 
 got some topping new records."
 
 CHAPTEE VI 
 
 WET fog had submerged the town until an 
 hour or two after noon, when a biting little 
 wind had stolen through the streets and open spaces, 
 crumpling up the milky draperies and bearing them 
 away to the south-west. In the parks, grass, paths 
 and seats were clammily bedewed; and drops fell 
 thickly from the shining, black boughs. With the 
 dissipation of the protecting mists, the winter day 
 had grown yet more bitterly cold. Eoot-passengers 
 hurried on their ways, their hands buried deeply 
 in pockets or muffs ; motor-carriages roared by with 
 closed windows ; the outside seats of omnibuses were 
 thinly peopled, but the interiors were congested with 
 standing passengers. Drivers of covered vans re- 
 tired as far as possible into the depths of their caves, 
 still singing with a dismal lustiness, as is their habit ; 
 those in charge of open carts bent their faces speech- 
 lessly before the wind, or draped their necks and 
 shoulders with sacks, where these were available. 
 Dogs were in a mood at once quarrelsome and ro- 
 mantic ; there was a notable absence of playing chil- 
 dren. The yellowish sky was hard and pitiless. 
 
 In Hyde Park, as evening approached, the seats 
 near Stanhope Gate were naturally deserted; but in 
 
 121
 
 122 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 a foot-path, some little way from the drive at this 
 point, a solitary man sprawled on a bench, sharply 
 contemplating the damp, leaf-strewn earth before 
 him. It was Gathorne Bnrrell and he was exceed- 
 ingly ill equipped for such rigorous weather; for he 
 wore neither great-coat nor gloves, and his coloured 
 shirt collar was low enough to expose most of his 
 throat. The tears that dripped quietly from the 
 branches above him had darkly spotted his soft hat 
 of pale grey felt; and his brown shoes were soaked 
 with moisture from the grass through which, it 
 seemed, he had recently been walking. Nor did he 
 wear the air of one of those fortunate, and some- 
 what irritating, beings who are insensible of tempera- 
 ture, his pale, expressionless face and thin hands 
 being blue with the cold. Yet he had not collapsed 
 on to the seat through illness or exhaustion, for now 
 and then he shifted his attitude unconcernedly, or 
 threw an upward glance at the intricate girder-work 
 of the trees; and at such times his lips moved, now 
 voicelessly, again in some disjointed words. One 
 might have fancied that intense creative concentra- 
 tion of the mind made him unconscious of the ma- 
 terial world, or it could have been not uncharitably 
 supposed that he was only one of those many semi- 
 sane persons with whom a big town abounds. He 
 shewed no signs of intoxication. 
 
 Wayfarers were growing rarer and rarer along 
 these by-roads ; and Shirley Cresswell, cosily dressed
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 123 
 
 in furs, her high-heeled shoes tripping nimbly be- 
 neath her short skirt, noted the seated figure, as 
 she approached it, with a wary eye. The dusk deep- 
 ened ; the demeanour and array of the man were dis- 
 couragingly eccentric. She glanced at the drenched 
 grass which shut her in on either side; halted for a 
 moment, with a foot on the low iron railing that 
 bordered the path; and then suddenly resumed her 
 direct course, at increased speed, and putting as 
 much distance as dry ground permitted between her- 
 self and the bench that she had to pass. At the 
 light sound of her footsteps Burrell looked up, star- 
 ing intently at the newcomer ; but he clearly did not 
 recognise her until she was exactly opposite him, 
 when he sprang to his feet, plucking the hat from his 
 head. The girl, however, nodding slightly without 
 looking at him, flashed by and was twenty yards 
 further on her way before he was able to overtake her. 
 
 "How do you do ? You don't remember me," he 
 said, offering his frozen hand, and smiling with a 
 touch of derision into her widely startled eyes. 
 
 Shirley surveyed the extended fingers doubtfully, 
 before allowing her own gloved ones to drop limply 
 through them. 
 
 "Yes, I do. Isn't it cold? I must be getting 
 on, though. I'm late for an appointment." 
 
 She nodded, 'with a blush, and renewed her flight ; 
 while Burrell, with some absence of tact, fell into 
 step beside her, his violet hands dangling empty
 
 124. THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 (for he had jettisoned his gold-topped walking stick 
 at his recent resting place) and his strained, blood- 
 suffused eyes fixed on the rounded cheek which was 
 all that was visible between her high fur collar 
 and the brim of her hat. 
 
 "I'll walk with you as far as Marble Arch," he 
 informed her. 
 
 "I ought to get out into Park Lane at once and 
 take a cab," she explained, with a hurried cold- 
 ness. 
 
 "Well, you can't now; you walked straight past 
 Stanhope Gate. Anyhow, you're likelier to pick 
 up a taxi in Oxford Street; and, besides, there's 
 something I've got to say to you." 
 
 His intonation was so imperative that Shirley 
 looked about her anxiously. In the wide drive, fifty 
 yards or so to her right, there were still occasional 
 pedestrians; and carriages passed with some fre- 
 quency. At the first foot-path which led to this more 
 populous quarter she turned aside, her escort still 
 accompanying her. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked, after some moments 
 of silence. "I haven't much time, you know." 
 
 "I've forgotten your name again, for the moment," 
 he brusquely confessed, "but I know where we met ; 
 and I'm pretty sure that you're the girl that some- 
 one was talking about, the other day, as Edward 
 Talbot's latest fancy. Am I right?"
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 125 
 
 The cheek which he was watching grew brighter 
 in colour, but Shirley kept her face averted as she 
 answered in rather a shaking voice. 
 
 "I'm afraid I don't understand, quite. ... I 
 must say good-bye here." 
 
 With the words she stopped suddenly and seemed 
 to await his departure. A pair of lovers were saun- 
 tering by, rapt in an amorous speechlessness, their 
 arms linked, their eyes contemplating the unseen 
 wonder-land. 
 
 "Why?" asked Burrell, with an unwinking stare. 
 
 "I've got an engagement, I told you." 
 
 He looked up at the hard sky, and gave a quick, 
 loud laugh. 
 
 "You're not expecting a fiery chariot, I suppose. 
 Well then ! There dosen't seem to be anybody here 
 to keep an appointment with, beyond that housemaid 
 and her boy. There isn't a cab in sight. You 
 can listen to me until you find one." 
 
 "A bus would take me there," Shirley reflected 
 uncomfortably, turning her eyes towards one that 
 lumbered past at the moment. 
 
 "All right, I can talk just as well in a bus; if 
 you don't think it's too public." 
 
 She seemed to collect her energies, and glanced 
 at her persistent follower for an instant with ob- 
 vious, if not very determined, annoyance. 
 
 "I'd rather be alone. Do you mind ?"
 
 126 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "What have you been hearing about me?" he 
 broke out fiercely. "Has Joyce Cassilis been talk- 
 in? Or Talbot? ... Eh? Tell me!" 
 
 "Nothing . . . no," Shirley assured him, shrink- 
 ing away from his angry gesture, and beginning 
 once more to move forward. "Please go away. I 
 wish you wouldn't bother me." 
 
 "You're telling lies," he declared, in a much lower 
 voice, and walking close at her elbow, bending his 
 head towards hers. "Someone's been talking; or 
 why am I suddenly not fit to be treated with ordi- 
 nary civility?" 
 
 "I hardly know you," the girl protested. "I 
 want to be alone. I think you might go away, 
 when you're asked." 
 
 "Was it Talbot?" he continued, still brushing 
 against her and speaking almost at her ear. "By 
 God, if it was!" 
 
 "It wasn't Sir Edward." 
 
 "What wasn't ?" he enquired logically enough ; and 
 Shirley, taking refuge from her slip in complete si- 
 lence, looked straight to her front, her lips a little 
 parted, the colour receding from her face, and her 
 feet stepping out faster than ever. It could be seen 
 that she was frightened, but there were traces of 
 anger in her expression that might supply the want 
 of bravery. 
 
 "You're only a little fool," he said contemptously, 
 his long stride keeping easy pace with her speed.
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 127 
 
 "I can see that; and it's what people are saying 
 about you, too. I don't know why I bother. . . . 
 Do you know the sort of fellow that's got hold 
 of you? Eh? . . . You won't answer? All 
 right ! . . . Do you think he's a nice man ? Do you 
 thinks he's a man at all ? Do you know the police 
 are after him? Would you like me to tell you 
 some of his adventures ? . . . Look here ! Listen ! 
 Don't be idiotic and obstinate! It's to your own 
 interest to listen. I don't really care two straws 
 what happens to you. But someone's got to stop 
 him; someone's got to get it back on him. He's 
 done enough. . . . He's — I don't know what he is, 
 though I know what he says he is. But that's not 
 possible. He's not sane; he's not human — by God, 
 Miss Cresswell, he isn't! I'm sure of it. If I 
 said three words to the police, I could get him stuck 
 in prison to-morrow. Did you ever hear of the 
 Tewkesbury Court business? No, of course, you 
 haven't. . . . But would he stay there? Not he! 
 One can never be free of him, so long as he's alive. 
 But he can die, you know ; he says so himself. He's 
 frightened of that, at times, I'm pretty certain, 
 though he pretends not to care." 
 
 All this was poured out in the same rapid, in- 
 coherent undertone, as they hastened over the gravel 
 towards Marble Arch. Once a passing gentleman 
 halted and looked after them curiously. The haste 
 and averted eyes of the woman, the hushed gabble
 
 128 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 and elbow-to-elbow propinquity of the man pro- 
 duced the effect of one seeking to escape from the 
 threatening solicitation of a sturdy beggar. In all 
 likelihood the passer-by had thoughts of a rescue, 
 and then was convinced of having misinterpreted 
 the situation, after another glance at the clothes 
 and bearing of Burrell. At least, after a few sec- 
 onds' scrutiny of the retreating figures he turned and 
 went about his business. 
 
 "You've got to be told, if you walk me over half 
 London," Burrell insisted. "I will tell you, whether 
 you like it or not. I believe you're not a bad 
 sort; and you're pretty, anyhow. . . . Keep away 
 from that devil. Don't become the subject of one 
 of his experiments. I tell you you're not the first, 
 by hundreds. I've been just such another damned 
 fool myself; and you shan't be able to say I didn't 
 warn you. What does he do it for? Curiosity, 
 sheer devilry — I don't know. God knows ! ISTot for 
 the motive of any ordinary man. ... Or not often. 
 Perhaps you may be one of the exceptional cases. 
 Perhaps you're reserved for higher honours than 
 most of them." 
 
 They had, by this time, reached the park gates, 
 and Shirley, pausing on the sidewalk among the 
 usual street crowds, lost the look of alarm which 
 she had worn in the comparative desolation of the 
 park. She confronted the persecutor boldly enough 
 now.
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 129 
 
 "I don't want to hear anything more at all. I 
 know all about vou; and I shouldn't dream of be- 
 lieving anything you said against anybody." 
 
 "Great God, how stupid you are!" he cried im- 
 patiently. "What sort of amusement do you sup- 
 pose I get out of chasing chance acquaintances round 
 Hyde Park, and telling them a pack of lies? Or 
 am I supposed to be a wandering lunatic?" 
 
 His disordered appearance and glaring eyes might 
 have warranted the acceptance of such a supposi- 
 tion ; but the girl did not take this line in her reply. 
 
 "I think you hate Sir Edward," she began. 
 
 "Ah !" he said, drawing in his breath quickly, and 
 the admission of the fact flashing out of his instan- 
 taneously convulsed face. 
 
 "I knew, some time ago, that you'd quarrelled; 
 and I know why. Because he won't have any more 
 to do with you, you want to do him harm in any 
 way you can think of — even with people that you 
 scarcely know, like me. I've heard something of 
 the kind before, from other friends of his. It's 
 no good with me; I think Sir Edward is perfectly 
 right. Please go away. I shan't say another word." 
 
 As she turned her back definitely upon him, he 
 burst out in louder and wilder anger. 
 
 "So he's told you about Joyce, I see; and how 
 shocked he was. He didn't refer to his part of 
 the business, did he? He didn't tell you that I 
 fell in love with her two years ago and more. He
 
 130 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 didn't say that it was his doing that she never 
 got to like me ; or how he had the happy thought of 
 finishing off the pair of us with one shot. Did he 
 say that he had an old score against her that needed 
 settling ? I was to do that for him. That was what 
 he had specially trained me for — that, and other 
 work that he's still got for me, blast him! Yes, 
 he means to get me back some day, sure enough. 
 He hasn't done with me yet. Oh, he's quite con- 
 fident. But there's one thing he hasn't allowed for. 
 He's put me down, but I'm not out. He may get 
 a surprise yet. . . ." 
 
 A taxi-cab passing at this moment, with its flag 
 up, Shirley raised her hand, and it swerved in to the 
 curb. Almost before it had stopped, she had the door 
 open and climbed hastily in, with a knee-high 
 backward view of trim black silk stocking; but 
 before she could shut herself into solitude, Bur- 
 rell had caught the handle, and had his foot on the 
 step. 
 
 "I'm coming with you. I haven't finished yet," 
 he cried, pulling against her, but apparently loath, 
 at first, to put out his strength to gain his point. 
 In face of her resistance, however, he lost his tem- 
 per, and gave a violent jerk which made her fingers 
 relax. The girl uttered a little shriek, half of fear 
 and half of pain; and at this the driver of the 
 cab, a stout, dark-faced man of middle age, stiffly
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 131 
 
 accoutred in an unyielding double-breasted ulster, 
 rolled hurriedly out of his seat, and thrust his bulk 
 between the disputants. 
 
 "Get off my cab. Leg go that door," he said, 
 with loud huskiness, snatching it from Burrell's hand 
 as he spoke, and shutting it with a decisive slam. 
 Burrell, slipping off the step into the gutter, and 
 barking his shins as he went, turned on Shirley's 
 champion with uncontrolled fury. 
 
 "What the hell are you doing ?" he shouted, with 
 a face of white distraction. "What the hell do 
 you mean by touching me, you dog?" 
 
 "Dog" was apparently a term which the driver 
 considered inapplicable to himself. His brow fell, 
 and his square under jaw shifted forward ominously. 
 
 "Touch yer?" he growled, planting himself 
 squarely before his traducer. "I'll touch yer, to 
 rights. I'll give yer a punch in the bleating ear- 
 hole, if I've any of your chat, me lad." 
 
 To point the threat, he began to draw off his 
 thick leather gloves, while a delighted crowd in- 
 stinctively made a ring, proper for the proposed en- 
 counter. Burrell stared about him blindly, and 
 turned aside. 
 
 "Ah, you're right!" sardonically commented the 
 victor, pulling his glove on again. "Go on ! Get 
 out of it ? Oxo, d'y'ear ? Or I'll soon learn yer to 
 come messing about with my far^s."
 
 132 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 The assistants made a smiling lane for the re- 
 treat of the discomforted Burrell ; but he seemed un- 
 aware of any disgrace attaching to his neglect of a 
 challenge. All his rage had slipped from him. He 
 looked apathetically on the many faces, derisive, 
 apprehensive or inquisitive, which surrounded him; 
 and wandered off with a perilous vagueness into 
 the traffic of Oxford Street. The cab-driver, grin- 
 ning broadly, reopened the door and nodded reassur- 
 ingly to the girl, who had been regarding the inci- 
 dents of her rescue with alarmed eyes. 
 
 "Where to, Miss V 9 
 
 She gave him an address ; and "thank you so much" 
 she added, with a relieved smile. 
 
 "Oh, that's quite all right," replied the man, grace- 
 fully putting aside this expression of her gratitude. 
 " 'E takes good care of 'is 'ealth, 'e does. . . . Yerss ! 
 I wasn't in France and Salonniker for nothing," and, 
 closing the door again, climbed back into his seat 
 and wheeled off into the Bayswater Boad. 
 
 Three days later Shirley received a couple of 
 letters by post. The first, which she opened at 
 breakfast in her flat, came from Sir Edward Tal- 
 bot, and was laconically conceived. 
 
 New Place, Rye. 
 Monday. 
 My dear Shirley, 
 
 Our party is arranged for next Saturday. This is, I 
 hope, giving you sufficient notice; but if you should have 
 another engagement for that day, pray set it aside. The
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 133 
 
 car will call for you in Wigmore Street at five o'clock, so 
 as to get you here in good time for dinner. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 Edward Talbot. 
 Bring plenty of warm wraps with you. We are in an 
 exposed spot. 
 
 The second letter awaited her at her place of busi- 
 ness. It was somewhat bulky, and addressed in a 
 picturesquely straggling hand. When she found 
 time to open the large, square envelope, she saw 
 within several type-written sheets and a holograph 
 letter of many pages. They seemed to have been 
 stuffed into the cover in any sort of order, for the 
 one that first came under her hand plunged, with- 
 out explanation, into the midst of a subject that 
 was totally strange to her. Beneath a line of small 
 type came a heading in capital letters, suggesting 
 an extract from a newspaper: 
 
 THE HOLBORN SENSATION 
 
 POLICE DESCRIPTION OF WANTED MEN 
 
 Shirley glanced upwards at the first line on the 
 sheet, which stated in fact that what followed had 
 been copied from The Standard, of a date in the 
 late summer of the year eighteen hundred and eighty- 
 nine. 
 
 "Scotland Yard," it ran, "has issued a description 
 of two men who are 'wanted' in connexion with the 
 mysterious affair in Tewkesbury Court, Holborn. 
 Enquiries at the agent's from whom the house was
 
 134- THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 leased disclose that the first of these two men, 
 Archibald Gedge, was the person who conducted the 
 negotiations and signed the agreement. The second 
 is clearly he who opened the door to the neighbour, 
 Mr. Carden, on Wednesday night last. We append 
 the descriptions in question: 
 
 (1) Archibald Gedge. . . . 
 
 The copy broke off at this point in two lines of 
 dots, and then resumed, this time in red letters, 
 to stimulate the special attention of the reader, no 
 doubt : 
 
 "(2) A well-dressed man, about forty years of 
 age. Height: medium. Build: somewhat fleshy. 
 Complexion: fresh. Hair: light brown, cut short 
 and smoothly brushed. Eyes : blue or grey. Clean- 
 shaven face. Talks in a quiet, educated voice, with- 
 out gestures. Has a misshapen right ear, presenting 
 the appearance of the upper portion having been 
 cut away to the depth of half an inch. . . ." 
 
 The last two lines had been heavily underscored 
 in the copy with black ink. 
 
 At this point Shirley put the sheet down on the 
 mantel by which she was standing, with a tolerant 
 smile; picked up the written letter, read the fan- 
 tastic signature of Gathorne Burrell, and smiled 
 again. The reason for her amusement was suffi- 
 ciently obvious. Plainly Burrell's object in send- 
 ing her these documents was to convince her that
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 135 
 
 the unknown malefactor was Sir Edward Talbot ; 
 and one needed no more than a moderate knowledge 
 of arithmetic to perceive that this was grotesquely 
 impossible. From the date of the extracts it was 
 to be seen that the criminal, if still alive, must be 
 somewhere in the neighbourhood of seventy years 
 of age; and if Edward Talbot had reached his forty- 
 fifth birthday, that must be the extreme limit of possi- 
 bility. With his unwrinkled skin and alert bearing, 
 it was improbable that he was actually more than 
 forty — the age of the well-dressed man of Tewkes- 
 bury Court in the year eighteen hundred eighty-nine. 
 The descriptive particulars of hair, eyes, stature and 
 complexion were as commonplace and colourless as 
 these things generally are. Nothing in the picture 
 presented reminded one of Talbot more than of 
 thousands of other men seen about the streets daily, 
 except the peculiarity of the right ear ; and on such 
 a flimsy foundation as this only a very dull kind 
 of malice or downright madness could be excused 
 for establishing the identity of a popular middle- 
 aged man of to-day with an obscure fugitive from 
 justice of thirty years ago. 
 
 Four foolscap sheets of typewriting remained still 
 unread, and the girl cast her eyes over them in 
 careless curiosity. They purported to be taken from 
 the same newspaper, and were dated two days prev- 
 iously to the other extract: 
 
 ■SS5W
 
 136 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 MYSTERIOUS OUTRAGE IN HOLBORN 
 
 "The attention of the police is engaged by a 
 strange and shocking discovery, made in the early 
 hours of yesterday morning in Tewkesbury Court, 
 Holborn. Tewkesbury Court is a small paved square 
 to the north of the main street, guarded from wheeled 
 traffic at either end by rows of iron posts. It con- 
 tains between thirty and forty narrow, four-storeyed 
 buildings of considerable age; most of which are 
 used during the hours of daylight as commercial 
 and professional offices. Three or four are unoc- 
 cupied; and one (number seven) is the dwelling 
 house and office combined of Mr. George Carden, a 
 member of the Institute of Civil Engineers. Mr. 
 Carden is a bachelor, and his servants sleep out; 
 so that, as he explained in conversation with our 
 representative, he has always imagined himself to be, 
 after ten o'clock at night, at the latest, the only 
 occupant of the court, except, it may be, for an 
 occasional caretaker. Wednesday night was, it will 
 be remembered, exceedingly close; and Mr. Carden, 
 being unable to sleep, dressed and went out into the 
 square for a breath of fresh air at about half past 
 eleven. The place was as quiet and deserted as it 
 always is at such an hour; and he had paced up and 
 down for ten minutes or so before his attention 
 was called to a muffled sound of music, which ap- 
 parently proceeded from one of the houses at the
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 137 
 
 end of the court furthest from Holborn. The un- 
 usualness of this so surprised him that he paused 
 in his walk and made an effort to locate the sounds 
 more exactly; finally deciding that they issued from 
 number twenty-four, twenty-five or twenty-six. The 
 nature of the music performed was, he says, im- 
 possible to appreciate accurately, on account of its 
 faintness; but he is of opinion that it may have 
 been produced by an harmonium or a powerful ac- 
 cordian. The affair struck him as strange, in view 
 of the fact that no light was to be seen in any of 
 the houses; and for some time after the music 
 ceased he remained at that end of Tewkesbury Court, 
 waiting for any further developments. Some little 
 time later he was startled by a new sound, as of a 
 human cry of distress, deadened by distance, or 
 by a succession of intervening obstacles. It was re- 
 peated twice, and was followed by a silence; and 
 Mr. Garden had now convinced himself that it came 
 from number twenty-five. Although the cries had 
 been insufficient to seriously alarm him, he ascended 
 the steps of the house and listened at the front 
 door; and within a few minutes he heard similar 
 screams, but louder and shriller than before, and 
 repeated a great number of times. His first idea, 
 that they were uttered by a woman in travail, was 
 negatived by two memories: firstly, that he was 
 sure no family occupied the house in the day time, 
 and secondly that he had so recently heard the
 
 138 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 sound of music in the same quarter. Apprehen- 
 sive, therefore, of something being wrong, he ap- 
 plied himself vigorously to the knocker and bell; 
 and his summons was very shortly answered by a 
 gentleman whom he is able to describe in some detail. 
 This person was in ordinary evening dress of good 
 cut, and was smoking a cigar ; and Mr. Garden repre- 
 sents his manner as having been totally unmoved and 
 ceremoniously polite. On hearing the cause of the 
 visit, he laughed and expressed his regret that Mr. 
 Carden had been disturbed. The house, he said, 
 had been lately taken over as a club by a society of 
 ladies and gentlemen interested in music and the 
 stage. Many of the members were of the dramatic 
 profession, so that their meetings were necessarily 
 held at late hours; and the sounds which had per- 
 turbed his neighbour were caused by an instrumental 
 concert, followed by the performance of scenes from 
 a play. Mr. Carden, he said, was quite at liberty, if 
 he felt any doubt as to the propriety of their occu- 
 pations, to come up and join them. A considerable 
 number of members was present, and they would 
 be glad to receive him, he was sure. His manner 
 entirely reassured Mr. Carden, particularly as the 
 house, now that the door was open was perfectly 
 quiet ; and, apologising for his intrusion, he returned 
 to his own home. During the brief conversation, the 
 unknown man had stood sideways in the half-opened 
 doorway, presenting only his profile to the enquirer ;
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 139 
 
 but a gas light was burning in the hall, by which 
 Mr. Carden could see him fairly clearly; and he 
 is convinced that he would recognise him, were 
 they to meet again. He particularly observed one 
 distinctive peculiarity; a curious deformity of the 
 right ear. The man gave a general impression of 
 belonging to the rich and cultivated class. Mr. 
 Carden returned to his rooms ; but, for some reason 
 which he cannot quite explain, he did not feel wholly 
 comfortable about the affair, once removed from 
 the presence of the specious stranger; and for some 
 time he remained seated at the open window of his 
 bedroom, overlooking the court, which was lighted 
 by a single central lamp-post, and watching from 
 the darkness of the apartment the door of number 
 twenty-five. He had not been so engaged for long 
 before he observed it to open for a few inches, slowly 
 and cautiously, and then close again; and after a 
 pause of some minutes it reopened, and a number 
 of persons emerged, apparently of both sexes. Con- 
 sidering the warmth of the night, it struck him that 
 they were all rather heavily muffled in cloaks and 
 coats. Some carried bundles ; and none spoke loudly 
 enough for a sound to reach his ears, a singularly 
 unnecessary precaution for innocent folk in this 
 practically uninhabited square. What chiefly dis- 
 turbed him, however, was that the whole party of 
 perhaps two dozen persons, instead of taking their 
 way homewards through the lighted thoroughfare
 
 140 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 of Holborn, where hansoms were still to be hired, 
 disappeared by twos and threes into the murky and 
 intricate byways which lie between the north of 
 Tewkesbury Court and Glerkenwell. The whole 
 business struck him as so bizarre that his suspicions 
 returned; and, having once more dressed, he went 
 and related his experiences to the policeman at the 
 corner of Gray's Inn Road. This officer was suf- 
 ficiently impressed to enlist the aid of a fellow-con- 
 stable; and the party of three proceeded to the sus- 
 pected house. The front door had been pulled to, 
 but not latched; and the investigators entered the 
 hall, where the gas still flared. Here an imme- 
 diately shocking discovery was made. A disordered 
 heap of draperies, some of rich stuffs, had been 
 thrown on a wooden bench; and, on lifting these, 
 there was revealed, lying on its face, the unconscious 
 form of a young woman. Mr. Garden states that 
 she was entirely nude, with her long, dark hair loose, 
 and seemed to have been outrageously mishandled. 
 He speaks of livid marks about both wrists, a great 
 number of red weals on the back, and scorched skin 
 peeling from the soles of the feet, both of which had 
 been terribly burnt The police despatched him 
 forthwith for an ambulance; and when he returned 
 with it, the unfortunate woman was taken as speed- 
 ily as possibly to Saint Bartholomew's hospital, where 
 she now lies in a precarious condition. All three 
 had believed that she was dead when they found her ;
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 141 
 
 but we understand that there is some hope that she 
 may recover from her injuries. Of the further dis- 
 coveries in Tewkesbury Court Mr. Carden was not 
 able to tell our representative anything; he was not 
 permitted to see more, himself; and the police, we 
 are informed, consider it essential to maintain the 
 greatest reticence in the matter, in view of certain 
 clues to the perpetrators of the outrage. The wild- 
 est rumours are afloat as to the nature of the noc- 
 turnal doings which Mr. Carden interrupted; and 
 it is freely hinted, on what evidence we are unaware, 
 that persons well-known in society were of the secret 
 party of malefactors. Until further data are avail- 
 able, however, it is fruitless to speculate, and prac- 
 tically impossible to construct a theory that will sat- 
 isfy all the circumstances." 
 
 Beneath this odd tale, a note was added in Bur- 
 relPs handwriting: 
 
 "The girl died in hospital, without recovering 
 consciousness; and the police have never yet made 
 an arrest or issued any further statement." 
 
 Before she had finished reading the account of 
 these sinister actions, the interest of Shirley was ap- 
 parently engaged, for she turned back once or twice 
 to re-read a phrase or line; and, when there was no 
 more, she even picked up Burrell's letter in a hesi- 
 tating manner, as if to seek in it some explanation 
 of the puzzle. But after a brief consideration she 
 tore the whole of the papers across, dropped them
 
 142 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 into the fire by which she had been standing, and 
 went about her duties as usual. 
 
 At this time of the year it was completely dark 
 by the time the shop closed ; and at about a quarter 
 of an hour before the end of her working day Shirley 
 was passing the high windows which looked out from 
 the first floor on to South Molton Street, when she 
 stopped abruptly and remained for some seconds gaz- 
 ing down at the opposite pavement. A street lamp 
 confronted the windows of Delbruck's, and almost 
 beneath it, and partly illuminated by its rays, a man 
 in a bowler hat and a heavy frieze ulster was stand- 
 ing motionless, the pallor of his face, in which no 
 features could be made out, raised towards the win- 
 dow at which the girl had paused. She passed back 
 into the room ; but came back again, and once again, 
 at intervals to her post of observation ; and on each 
 occasion the watcher still stood immovably on the 
 same spot. Finally Shirley called one of the ap- 
 prentices to her. 
 
 "Miss Dallas," she said, "I wonder if you'd mind 
 asking Sergeant Carey to get me a taxi? I've got 
 to put my things on, and I'm rather in a hurry." 
 
 Five minutes later the uniformed commissionaire 
 came upstairs to tell her that the cab was waiting; 
 and it was under his escort that she emerged into 
 the December darkness. Gathorne Burrell was 
 standing only a few yards away, watching the door- 
 way; and as she passed through it he stepped hur-
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 143 
 
 riedly forward, as if to intercept her; but the stal- 
 wart Carey, under previous instructions, bundled 
 her hastily into safety, and passed an address to the 
 driver in an undertone, remaining himself standing 
 between Burrell and the cab until it drove away. 
 The young man, pale and distraught of countenance, 
 preserved for a few moments an irresolute posture, 
 staring into the sergeant's eyes with a kind of va- 
 cant anger, while his lips moved noiselessly; but as 
 the ex-soldier returned his gaze with a contemptuous 
 fixity, he turned away, and with a dragging step 
 retreated along the diminishing line of lamps, un- 
 til he vanished round the corner of Brook Street. 
 Carey, squaring his shoulders anew and giving a 
 twist to his moustaches, returned to his post on the 
 shop steps, where he remained passing a word or two 
 to the girls who began to troop out singly or in 
 pairs. All around, similar prisons were having 
 a gaol delivery. The dim street was full of chatter 
 and laughter and the tap of boot heels.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 SIR EDWARD'S car arrived before its time 
 in Wigmore Street on the following Saturday; 
 so that Shirley's luggage was strapped behind it, 
 and a start made almost as five o'clock was striking. 
 In accordance with the advice contained in the letter 
 of invitation, the girl was muffled up into the sem- 
 blance of a brown bear, and had swathed her head in 
 a thick veil; precaution wisely taken, for the still 
 air was fiercely cold, and the car an open four- 
 seater of very high power. The ease with which 
 this mighty engine, with its light body, devoured 
 the hills, the stormy speed with which it flew, scream- 
 ing like a shell from a gun, over open common-lands, 
 silently down glimmering high roads, or barking 
 through narrow village streets, kept an icy gale con- 
 stantly whistling past the passenger's ears; so that, 
 despite the warmth of her clothing, she snuggled 
 down among the fur rugs with which the tonneau 
 was filled. Passing through Tonbridge, the driver, 
 slightly reducing speed, asked over his shoulder if she 
 would like the hood raised ; and Shirley, agreeing, 
 completed her journey more or less blindly. In these 
 black recesses, buried in the warmth of the soft 
 skins, she fell into a drowse, from which she did not 
 
 144
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 145 
 
 fully wake until the car stopped, and the driver 
 dismounted from his seat to open an almost invisible 
 white gate. Thereafter the road ran steeply up- 
 wards, between dark bushes, which were set so closely 
 together that the car, as it climbed, brushed against 
 them on either side with a continuous rustle, like 
 the sound of an incoming tide on a quiet beach. 
 Presently they seemed to pass through a little wood ; 
 for the tyres crackled over twigs and needles, and there 
 was a faint smell of pine. Emerging from this, 
 they halted finally in front of a door, beside which, 
 on a stone bracket, a large, roughly made lantern 
 of brass sheltered a single candle. By this feeble 
 illumination could be made out the interior of a 
 flagged Greek portico of some height. Beyond this 
 there was little to be seen, for the head-lamps of the 
 car, obscured to a point which was positively a danger 
 to those in the care of so furious a driver, cast 
 but a pale and inconsiderable fan of gold across the 
 terrace. The night was pitchy dark. Not a star 
 was to be seen ; nor did any sound reach the ear 
 beyond the throb of the engine, which the chauffeur 
 left running, while he busied himself with the lug- 
 gage. The house itself was a mere blind-eyed, in- 
 determinate mass of grey against the blackness. It 
 was impossible to guess its size or form. 
 
 Before the bags had all been carried into the porch, 
 the front-door was set open, and a man-servant, ex- 
 tricating Shirley from her burrow, shewed her into
 
 146 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 the entrance hall, a wide and shallow room, stone- 
 floored, chill, obscure, surrounded by several doors, 
 and containing neither furniture nor decoration be- 
 yond a big round table of oak and a splendid fire- 
 place of carved marble, on whose great iron dogs, 
 however, no welcoming logs flamed. Plainly the 
 place was used solely as a vestibule ; and Shirley re- 
 garded it with dispirited eyes. 
 
 "Miss Crassle ?" asked the servant perfunctorily. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "This way, please." 
 
 His pronunciation and the quality of his voice, in 
 saying these few words, were both unmistakably ex- 
 otic. The vowels were very open, the dental almost 
 sibilant, the general intonation what is loosely de- 
 scribed as nasal ; and he seemed to speak with a curi- 
 ous relish, both idle and luxurious. Shirley shot 
 a glance at him as he opened one of the numerous 
 doors and stood aside to let her pass. He was a tall, 
 finely built young man, dressed in a silver-buttoned, 
 swallow-tailed suit, with a high waistcoat of black 
 and white striped stuff, and a white tie. His com- 
 plexion was of a rich cream colour, his nose rather 
 flat, his lips broad and pale, his abundant hair jet 
 black and crisply waving. There was no depth in 
 the brown eyes, the whites of which were faintly 
 tinged with violet ; nor could any expression be read 
 into their brightness, except, possibly, a hint of sen-
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 147 
 
 suality; but his smile was both candid and agree- 
 able. 
 
 Having shut the door of the vestibule behind them, 
 he took the lead, and conducted Shirley up a nar- 
 row, carpeted stair-case, along a short corridor, 
 lighted by a hanging oil-lamp, into a large bedroom 
 on the second floor of the house. After the chilly 
 darkness of the journey, and the unfriendliness of 
 the hall, this retreat offered, by contrast, a most in- 
 viting picture, with its snugly cloaked windows, its 
 wide, low bed, draped in an embroidered coverlet, its 
 white-panelled walls, Persian carpet and grey satin- 
 wood furniture. A fire sang gladly to itself, there 
 were flowers on the mantel, and the big arm-chair 
 and couch were dressed in enlivening chintz. Three 
 mirrors, in different parts of the room, tossed its 
 reflection backwards and forwards to each other, and 
 multiplied the golden flames of a dozen or more 
 candles, which burnt in ormolu sconces on the wood- 
 en walls. Any sombre impression that might have 
 been created by the bleakness of the entrance must 
 have been at once put to flight by the sight of a cham- 
 ber so warm, lively and modern. After looking 
 about her for a few moments with a clearing face, 
 the visitor came over to the grateful fire, slipping 
 her fur coat from her shoulders, and stood there in 
 thought while the footman brought in her baggage. 
 
 "I think that's all, Miss," he said in the same
 
 148 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 lazily voluptuous manner. "I'll send Mrs. Skinner 
 to you now." 
 
 He had not been gone ten seconds before the per- 
 son whom he had named presented herself; and Shir- 
 ley, turning at the sound of her entry, gave a per- 
 fectly audible gasp of alarm, which greatly enter- 
 tained the new-comer. Mrs. Skinner was as black 
 and shiny as the unburnt coals on the fire; a small 
 and very shapely negress, of about Shirley's age, 
 perhaps, dressed in a plain dress and apron of black 
 stuff, and pleasant to look upon, with the genial hid- 
 eousness (according to European standards) of her 
 race. After the first shock, Shirley greeted her with 
 apologetic cordiality. 
 
 "Gustavus send me, Miss," the negress explained. 
 "Your dinner's in half an hour. Shall I dress you 
 now, Miss ?" 
 
 She proved herself an accomplished tirewoman, 
 and of a most enthusiastic disposition ; laughing de- 
 lightedly as she changed Shirley's travelling dress 
 for an extremely scanty frock (one might almost have 
 supposed it to be a chemise) of plain black satin; 
 and lavishing the frankest and most extravagant com- 
 pliments on the girl's arms and shoulders, on the fair- 
 ness and satin smoothness of her skin, on her slim 
 hands, her narrow, arched feet, her burnished hair, 
 the length of her dark eyelashes, the brightness of 
 her lips and eyes, the filmy delicacy of her under-
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 149 
 
 clothing, and the glossiness of her black silk stock- 
 ings — all with a kind of barbaric adoration which 
 seemed, after one or two laughing protests, to em- 
 barrass and finally even to annoy Shirley. Flatter- 
 ing as such obviously genuine admiration must al- 
 ways be, it was expressed with a fulsomeness, and at 
 times with a naturalistic attention to detail, that 
 may be supposed to be more characteristic of Africa 
 than of Great Britain. The black girl seemed to 
 gloat over the physical charms of the white almost as 
 might a glutton over some unusually appetising dish ; 
 even essaying a form of hackneyed imagery to mir- 
 ror her emotions. 
 
 "Snow at sun-up and snow at nooning and snow 
 at sundown the Lord took to the making of you, Miss, 
 honey," she gabbled in her labial twang. "Snow hill 
 and snow valley, grass gone golden in Fall, and lil 
 blue streams wandering in the sunshine; pink shells 
 off of the sea-shore; apples and peaches, rip'ning 
 peaches and lil apples; all so soft and warm and 
 smooth as a cat's fur." 
 
 While she thus rhapsodised, she was kneeling on 
 the carpet at Shirley's feet ; and, her task completed, 
 she pressed her thick lips humbly to the hand which 
 hung nearest to her. Shirley, instinctively shrink- 
 ing from the contact, spoke with hurried politeness. 
 
 "Thank you very much. I shan't want anything 
 else."
 
 150 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "I'm to shew you the way downstairs, Miss. Will 
 you call 'Kate' when you want me? I'll be right 
 outside the door." 
 
 "I'll come now." 
 
 Along the quiet corridor they passed, and down a 
 new flight of stairs, at the foot of which Mrs. Skin- 
 ner, still smiling and fawning, delivered her charge 
 into the care of a butler who was there awaiting 
 them — Mr. Jerome, as the negress informed Shirley 
 in a whisper. This man was of middle height 
 and spare ; his dark hair was becomingly frosted with 
 silver, and his wide mouth had fallen a little inwards 
 with the passage of the years. There was nothing 
 remarkable in his aspect, beyond a rather lugubrious 
 gravity; but his accent, when he spoke, was odd, 
 bearing traces of a combined Latin and American 
 
 ± a 
 
 origin. 
 
 "Sir Edward is not quite ready yet, Miss. He 
 told me to make his excuses, and ask if you would 
 kindly wait for him in the library." 
 
 So saying, he ushered Shirley into an empty room, 
 lofty and spacious, which distilled that stimulatingly 
 mouldering smell connected with old books, and 
 wheeled a chair for her up to the hearth. Closely 
 packed shelves covered the walls to the height of 
 about eight feet, and above them a number of ob- 
 scure pictures in tarnished gilt frames figured dimly 
 against a background of claret-coloured paper. A 
 brass candelabrum hung from the middle of the ceil-
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 151 
 
 ing, but the light which its candles gave scarcely 
 reached the outlying parts of the room. The furni- 
 ture was massive and sober; mahogany and brown 
 leather met the eye in every direction; and, except 
 for the pictures, there was nothing present of a purely 
 decorative character beyond a squad of little statu- 
 ettes and busts or heads, some of terra cotta, others 
 of a greenish stone, set up on flat bases or tiny ped- 
 estals of verde-antique, which were ranged along the 
 high marble mantel. 
 
 "I'll get some more wood for the fire, Miss," 
 Jerome announced, after a glance at the incan- 
 descent mass; and noiselessly left Shirley to her- 
 self. 
 
 As the latch clicked behind him, she picked up an 
 evening paper which he had laid on the arm of her 
 chair, glanced at the head-lines, laid it down again, 
 and looked quickly behind her, first over the right, 
 and then the left, shoulder. Beyond the circle of 
 amber candle-light, the place was packed with shad- 
 ows, which furtively shifted and altered in form 
 under a close scrutiny. There are people who find 
 wavering shadows but indifferent company to their 
 solitude; and the pictures, moreover, were the re- 
 verse of heartening. They were chiefly of the 
 Spanish school ; heads of pale, sensual men in black 
 velvet tunics ; monks or hermits assailed by demons ; 
 martyrs enduring their torments. None were of any 
 great merit, and one or two were mere copies of well-
 
 152 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 known works by Morales and Zurbaran. The pig- 
 ments had cracked and the accumulations of varnish 
 blackened with age, until it was hard, in some in- 
 stances, to make out the subject at all. The best 
 preserved, a full length figure hung over a writing 
 table in a space between two bookshelves, represented 
 a beggar, tattered and filthy, peeping out through a 
 rent in a great black cloak with which he hid his 
 face. But one eye was visible, the bright glance 
 of which it was impossible to avoid or ignore. On 
 the whole, the saloon, although a handsome and dig- 
 nified place enough, was likely to strike a highly- 
 strung and solitary person, accustomed to the stir 
 and company of cities, as a little lowering to the 
 spirits. Shirley found so much to look at behind her 
 chair that the newspaper remained unread; while 
 patent relief sprang to her face at the return of Je- 
 rome, bearing a basket of logs, which he proceeded, 
 with a meticulous deliberation, to build into a pyre 
 over the glowing coals. His movements, as he bent 
 to his work, were so discreet that hardly a sound 
 broke the breathless silence that filled the house ; and 
 Shirley, after contemplating his humped posture for 
 some seconds with an irritable contraction of the eye- 
 brows, broke into speech. 
 
 "I thought, from what Sir Edward said, that there 
 was to be a house-party." 
 
 The butler courteously stayed his labours, and 
 straightened his back before replying.
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 153 
 
 "That is so, Miss. Some of the guests will be 
 down here very soon." 
 
 "Ladies ? How many ?" 
 
 "In the party, Miss? I'm not quite certain. A 
 goodish number." 
 
 Silence ensuing, he returned to the disposal of the 
 wood, while the girl, her forehead smooth again, 
 made a fresh attack on the news ; but it might have 
 been supposed that the servant's tacit ministrations 
 worried her, for in another minute she spoke once 
 more. 
 
 "How quiet it is here! Of course, I'm accus- 
 tomed to London." 
 
 "Yes, Miss," Jerome agreed, facing her at once, a 
 log in one hand. "The house stands very solitary." 
 
 "Oh ? There's no village, then ?" 
 
 "No village, Miss ; and no other big house in the 
 immediate neighbourhood." 
 
 "Really? But Rye's not far off — where the sta- 
 tion is?" 
 
 "Where the station is, Miss, yes. Four miles, or 
 perhaps a little more." 
 
 He held her with his dismal eyes for a while, as 
 if to make sure that no more questions were forth- 
 coming. Then, having laid the last billet in place, 
 he gently dusted his hands together, picked up his 
 basket, and moved towards the door. Before he 
 reached it, Shirfey stopped him with an enquiry, put 
 with shame-faced carelessness.
 
 154 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "There are farms and cottages about, naturally ?" 
 
 "Yes, Miss." 
 
 "Close ?" she added swiftly, as he turned away. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Miss ?" 
 
 "Have you any cottages close to the house ?" 
 
 "The grounds are a fair size, Miss. There's a 
 farm just beyond them, to the east — " 
 
 He broke off abruptly, and Shirley started in her 
 chair. The door had opened and shut softly, and 
 Sir Edward Talbot was half way across the room. 
 Abreast of Jerome he paused for a moment, moving 
 his eyes from the butler to the guest and back again ; 
 then, dismissing the servant with a nod, he came up 
 to Shirley, holding out his hand with a smile of wel- 
 come. 
 
 "So here you really are! How nice of you to 
 come! I always had a vague fear that you might 
 break your promise at the last moment — you're such 
 a volatile person — and we should all have been in- 
 consolable." 
 
 He was in evening dress, with a dinner jacket and 
 black tie ; and his empty eyes seemed more brilliantly 
 translucent than ever, as he cordially shook hands. 
 The smile on his smooth face was, however, little 
 more than formal. 
 
 "I'm sorry I wasn't able to welcome you in person 
 on your arrival. But I hope you've been properly 
 looked after." 
 
 "Oh yes."
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 155 
 
 "Oh yes?" he repeated, good-temperedly mimick- 
 ing her unenthusiastic tone. 
 
 "Quite, thanks," she assured him; and then, laugh- 
 ing rather fretfully, gave an explanation. "I'm glad 
 you've come, though, Sir Edward. I was beginning 
 to feel a little — I don't know — sorry for myself." 
 
 "How's that?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing! It was silly of me. . . . Every- 
 thing seems so awfully quiet here." 
 
 "Well, well ! After Wigmore Street — " 
 
 "I know ; but I don't only mean that. The house 
 feels empty, somehow; there doesn't even seem to be 
 a clock. You see, I expected to walk into the middle 
 of a lot of people." 
 
 "They're mustering by degrees. Two of them will 
 be with us almost at once — Madame Ladmirault and 
 her daughter, Olga. You'll like them, I think. 
 Madame, perhaps, is a little too girlish in dress ; but 
 it shews a fresh mind, after all, and she's a lively, 
 clever woman. Olga is a recent recruit to our num- 
 bers. . . . You speak French, of course?" 
 
 "Oh no! Hardly at all." 
 
 "Really? Well, Madame Ladmirault talks Eng- 
 lish perfectly, but Olga, I'm afraid, knows only her 
 own language. However, I doubt if she'd say a 
 great deal, in any case — a dreamy, shy young per- 
 son. One would hardly take her to be a grown-up. 
 Probably we four shall be alone at dinner, but the 
 others arrive soon after. ... So you began to sus-
 
 156 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 pect me of arranging a three days' tete-a-tete with 
 you, under false pretences ?" 
 
 "Of course not!" protested Shirley, the note of 
 resentment still in her voice. 
 
 "Some one has to be the first to arrive ; and, thanks 
 to the fiery zeal of my chauffeur, it happened to be 
 you. Sit down again, do!" 
 
 She obeyed, and he remained standing by the man- 
 tel, gazing down on her. So long as she studied the 
 carpet in pouting silence, he watched her with im- 
 movable solemnity ; but as she looked up at him, the 
 gravity of his face softened into a restrained amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 "You have a dreadfully suspicious mind," he told 
 her. "But a few minutes more will prove my bona 
 fides. I'm assuming that the presence of two other 
 ladies will reassure you. Or would you say that a 
 larger number is necessary to keep up the propri- 
 eties?" 
 
 "Don't tease me !" she pleaded. "You found out, 
 long ago, how I fuss myself over little things." 
 
 "Of course I won't tease you," he promised, tak- 
 ing one of the small stone figures from the chimney- 
 piece, and examining it absent-mindedly. "I'm only 
 too anxious that you should be thoroughly composed 
 before your initiation. It's essential that you should 
 approach that with an easily balanced mind." 
 
 "But it's not to-night?" she cried, in a sort of 
 panic.
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 157 
 
 He raised his face, and looked on her dispassion- 
 ately. 
 
 "Certainly it's to-night. I thought I'd made that 
 perfectly clear to you. The less delay, the better. 
 As I told you before, most of my friends are pardon- 
 ably reticent about their beliefs and enthusiasms. I 
 appreciate the delicacy of this feeling, if I do not my- 
 self share it; and I imagine, although they haven't 
 said so, that it is the cause of their absence from my 
 dinner-table. They have no ambition to provide fod- 
 der for the derision, or even the idle curiosity, of 
 London, where many of them are pretty well known. 
 As for Madame Ladmirault and her daughter, they, 
 like myself, are indifferent to gossip; partly, no 
 doubt, because they have no great circle of acquaint- 
 ance in this country. But supposing, in one of the 
 fits of perversity that come over you at times, you 
 decided not to go on with the matter, after being 
 introduced to the others. I refuse to believe the pos- 
 sibility of such a thing ; but you know that you have 
 always reserved the right to do so, and I have had 
 to let my friends know of the stipulation. In that 
 case you would be able to return to London with a 
 list of all the persons who had taken part in the pro- 
 ceedings here — laden, in fact, with material for hum- 
 ourous small-talk at the tea table." 
 
 "But I'd never say a word. How can you 
 think—?" 
 
 "I don't. But they, who do not know you, neces-
 
 158 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 sarily don't feel the same confidence in your power 
 of holding your tongue. For that reason, we may be- 
 lieve, they prefer to postpone their introduction to 
 you until such time as you have given the requisite 
 hostages, so to speak." 
 
 Still twirling the little image between his fingers, 
 he spoke with a comfortable softness; and Shirley 
 seemed to weigh his proposition. 
 
 "But," she argued presently, "you told me that, 
 if I didn't like it, I could stop at any moment, even 
 after it had begun." 
 
 "I see what you mean. Certainly we came to that 
 arrangement, absurdly unnecessary as it was. But 
 until the meeting is finished, you will not be aware 
 of the personalities of those attending it. They will 
 be veiled." 
 
 "Veiled?" repeated Shirley, with a catch of the 
 breath. 
 
 "For heaven's sake, Shirley," he beseeched, with 
 mock horror, "don't let such a harmless word as that 
 start you off again. You know, as well as I do, that 
 the veil is a common circumstance of many religious 
 ceremonies. After the start you gave, I hardly dare 
 add that I shall wear certain vestments. Doubtless 
 you fancied that I should preside in tweed clothes 
 and a bowler hat. You seem to lack a sense of the 
 appropriate." 
 
 His raillery, perhaps a trifle less genial than be- 
 fore, had no visible effect on her preoccupation.
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 159 
 
 "And in case — and if — " she hesitated. "What 
 should I do, if I found I didn't want to go on with 
 it?" 
 
 "You will," he assured her. 
 
 "Yes ... but if I didn't?" 
 
 Sir Edward shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Presumably, like a sulky child, you'd go to bed; 
 and to-morrow, before you saw the people you'd dis- 
 appointed, my car would take you back to your flat." 
 
 She studied his blank face with a sort of wistful 
 appeal, but he made no further effort at encourage- 
 ment or amplification of his remarks. 
 
 "I suppose," she said slowly, "it would be too late 
 for me to go home to-night, if — " 
 
 "To-night ?" he broke in impatiently. "Start for 
 London, by road, at midnight, when there's a bed 
 for you in the house? What are you thinking of? 
 And what in the world's come over you, since you 
 came into the country ?" 
 
 "I don't know," she faltered, attempting a poor 
 smile, which was belied by a tremble in her voice. 
 "It's so creepy here." 
 
 The words came hurriedly, and with them an un- 
 mistakable look of fear peeped out; an expression 
 which her companion greeted with a curious smile, 
 which, almost for the first time in their acquaintance, 
 began in the luminous eyes, and very slowly crept 
 down his face until it reached the corners of his 
 shaven lips. In motionless silence he watched her
 
 160 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 anxious expression and the restless movements of her 
 hands, like one charmed and amused by the wayward 
 foolishness of a child, and loth to reduce it to a com- 
 monplace reasonableness either by comfort or rebuke. 
 
 "Mmmm?" he hummed at last, on a prolonged 
 note of soft interrogation. "Creepy ? What do you 
 find creepy ?" 
 
 "Nothing particular; but the place itself is so 
 lonely; and there's never a sound; and I don't like 
 these pictures. And then there was a black girl who 
 gave me rather a fright." 
 
 "What! Poor Kate? She's a most faithful, 
 lively creature." 
 
 "I dare say. But I wasn't expecting blacks. And 
 I didn't much like the way she talked, either. . . . 
 And the butler and the footman, too ; they're queer, 
 somehow. I can't quite explain why." 
 
 "My dear Shirley, you're rather insular. These 
 people have been long in my service. I brought them 
 to this country with me, and you could hardly ex- 
 pect them to be exactly modelled on the pattern of the 
 ordinary English servant. Jerome is invaluable. 
 He comes from Baton Bouge, and is of unmixed 
 French descent. I don't know what I should do with- 
 out Jerome. The knowledge that he is mortal chills 
 me at times. Kate and Gustavus I picked up in 
 Charleston, ten years ago. He's a quadron, I fancy ; 
 a very handy fellow; while Kate, as you saw, is 
 pure negro. I wonder at a girl of your brains and
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 161 
 
 tolerance being disturbed at encountering a few 
 harmless people, merely because they are not of your 
 race." 
 
 "It's not only that," she maintained. "Every- 
 thing strikes me somehow as ghostly; and that black 
 girl petting me up as if I was going to. ... I don't 
 know. Jerome told me, too, that no one else lives 
 near here." 
 
 "That's true. We're not within gunshot of the 
 nearest cottage. But why do you want other houses ? 
 Aren't you satisfied with your entertainment in this 
 one?" 
 
 His voice was again perfectly good-humoured and 
 pleasant, and Shirley smiled constrainedly. 
 
 "You must think me rather an idiot," she apolo- 
 gised, "but strange places and people often make me 
 uncomfortable. I suppose I'm tired, too." She 
 paused, and then added appealingly: "And then 
 the thought of this — my initiation. You won't — I 
 know you can't — tell me much about it beforehand. 
 Naturally I'm a little frightened." 
 
 "Frightened? But why? I decline to believe 
 that a motor drive, or meeting a nigger, can shat- 
 ter your nervous system ; and when you were in Lon- 
 don, the prospect of it didn't alarm you in the least." 
 
 "Yes, it did; it always did rather. You know I 
 took a long time to make up my mind about it. Be- 
 sides, it seemed so different there . . . just talking 
 about it in my room, with the electric light on, and
 
 162 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 things passing in the street outside. . . . And then 
 perhaps Mr. Burrell gave me a shock." 
 
 "Eh ?" he interrupted, his voice becoming keener, 
 though his face remained unchanged. "How has he 
 been giving you shocks ? I didn't know you'd spoken 
 to him since we were all at the Cassilis' together." 
 
 "It was only a few days ago. We met in the 
 park; and he behaved in such an odd way, and 
 looked so dreadfully ill and mad." 
 
 "But you knew of the existence of invalids and 
 lunatics before that, I imagine. What has that to do 
 with your present position ?" 
 
 "Only that as he's one of you. . . ." 
 "He told you that?" 
 "I understood him to say so." 
 Sir Edward reflected. 
 
 "It is true. He has been admitted, but he never 
 got far. As you saw, he's a very unbalanced fellow, 
 and has given me some trouble. You were witness, 
 a long time ago, of his ill-temper towards myself, 
 you remember. Since then I've made several efforts 
 at reconciliation. Indeed, he was invited here to- 
 night; but, as he has ignored the invitation, it looks 
 as if he had not yet recovered his senses. ... So 
 this malicious boy, whom you recognise as being only 
 partly sane, has been poisoning your mind about me, 
 has he?" 
 
 "I wouldn't let him ; I wouldn't listen." 
 "Then what did he say ?"
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 163 
 
 "Nothing that I remember ; but he terrified me at 
 the time ; and for some reason I can't get him out of 
 my head to-night." 
 
 "You seem to be one of those people who take actual 
 pleasure in scaring themselves; and of course it's 
 always possible to find material for terror, if one's 
 determined to have it. A solitary place, unknown 
 companions, an unexplained ceremony, against which 
 sinister hints have doubtless been thrown out by a 
 crazy fellow — oh yes ! here we have bricks enough for 
 building a haunted house, certainly. The whole 
 point is this: you are here under my guarantee, be- 
 cause you trusted in me, as a friend. May I ask 
 if you trust me still ?" 
 
 "You know I do." 
 
 "I'm glad to hear it. It would be an exceedingly 
 unpleasant position for you, if you did not." 
 
 As he uttered the last words with measured delib- 
 eration, he turned on her a long look, cold, glittering 
 and utterly vacant ; and the girl, in an instant, became 
 as white as paper. Once or twice her lips moved, 
 but no sound came from them; and meanwhile the 
 vacuity of Sir Edward's expression was slowly trans- 
 formed into the aspect, half amused, half breathlessly 
 admiring, which he had once before presented dur- 
 ing their talk. As soon as the amusement was clearly 
 recognisable, Shirley found her voice, though it was 
 a fluttered and gasping one. 
 
 "What do you mean?"
 
 164 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "I mean no more than I said; that it would be 
 a very uncomfortable thing for a girl to have no con- 
 fidence in the man in whose house she was staying, 
 under no other protection. But you have that con- 
 fidence ; so there's no sense in letting your nerves get 
 out of hand. "We've been friends for a considerable 
 time, so that you probably know all that there is to 
 be known about me. Women so rapidly turn a man 
 inside out, I've been told. . . . Among other things," 
 he added, after staring into vacancy for a while, "you 
 must have discovered that I am much interested in 
 you. Yet I doubt if you realise how much. . . .1 
 swear that there is no woman alive who means so 
 much to me ; and there has been only one in the past 
 of equal importance." 
 
 The sudden intensity that he put into his voice as 
 he spoke the last sentence made his companion start. 
 It was not the tone of a man making a declaration 
 of love to a woman ; it was filled with a kind of mystic 
 exultation, sombre yet eager. The next instant he 
 had laid it aside, and was saying tranquilly : 
 
 "For that reason I have stepped out of my ordinary 
 paths to take you in hand, to try and make the world 
 rather more enlivening to you than you found it be- 
 fore we met. You tell me I have succeeded." 
 
 "Rather !" she hastened to reply, as if ashamed of 
 an ingratitude. "I've been quite a different crea- 
 ture, since you began to teach me." 
 
 "Can you tell me why ?"
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 165 
 
 "Why ? Because — well, because you've shewn me 
 a new way of looking at things." 
 
 "Shirley, countless men and women could have 
 done as much, and left you no better than they found 
 you. How many philosophers, do you think, have 
 a panacea for human ills ?" 
 
 "But yours is the right philosophy." 
 
 "I must agree with you, since I profess it. But 
 theory has little influence on personal happiness. 
 You have your wretched optimists, and your inde- 
 cently hilarious pessimists. The wisdom that I hope 
 to teach you rises high above dialectics. All I set 
 out to do, to begin with, was to engage your interest 
 sufficiently to make to-night, and what follows to- 
 night, possible. But you held back; you kept put- 
 ting off the day ; and meanwhile your whole despair- 
 ing point of view altered, as a result, so you supposed, 
 of this merely elementary instruction. I tell you 
 that, by itself, it would have consoled you about as 
 much as a handbook on algebra." 
 
 "Then what was it?" asked Shirley, with wide 
 eyes. 
 
 "It was what you rely on at this moment, what will 
 take you through all the succeeding stages — your 
 trust in me, as you describe it ; that is to say, the sub- 
 mission of your intellect to mine — the force which 
 you drew, unconsciously, out of my mere person- 
 ality. . . . But we don't want to enmesh ourselves 
 in such discussions at present. The day which I have
 
 166 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 longed hoped for is not to be wasted in words. Now 
 that the strangeness has passed, I hope my house will 
 seem a friendlier place than it did at first. You 
 criticised my pictures," he said, with a casual glance 
 round the walls, "and I don't defend them as works 
 of art, though that is a good portrait of Tristan's 
 on your left. But they seemed to me to be in key 
 with the room, darkly rich, archaic, a trifle pompous. 
 So I let them stay. You see I bought the house 
 as it stands ; books, furniture, everything." 
 
 "So none of these things are yours — chosen by 
 you, that is ?" 
 
 "Not many. A few hundred books in my study, 
 and such other belongings as I can carry about on my 
 journeyings. I am an incorrigible wanderer. 
 These," he added, indicating the row of little figures 
 on the mantel, "I brought here with me, to be my 
 household gods. Have you looked at them ?" 
 
 "No. Where did you get them ?" 
 
 "From various dealers, at one time and another; 
 I have a fancy for such things." 
 
 "They're old aren't they ?" 
 
 "Some of them are very old indeed; older than 
 our friend Silvanus at Overbourne. They were 
 found in all sorts of places — Greece, Khodes, 
 Smyrna, Egypt. This," he continued, stretching out 
 towards her the one which he held, "I take to be 
 the doyen of the assembly. He comes from Cyprus,
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 167 
 
 and was made the best part of three thousand years 
 ago. But his cult goes back farther than that, Shir- 
 ley; farther than we can think." 
 
 She had stooped her fair head to look at the figure, 
 a roughly fashioned object of pale green stone, goat- 
 headed and human-bodied, with disproportionately 
 large horns curling backwards over its head and down 
 its spine; but, as Sir Edward ceased to speak, she 
 looked quickly up at him, with an expression that was 
 half puzzled and half, one might have thought, an- 
 noyed. Apparently unconscious of this mute and 
 protesting enquiry, he turned away, and replaced the 
 statuette on its former position. 
 
 "Who is he? What's he called?" the girl asked 
 perfunctorily, after an interval during which her 
 faint look of disturbance passed away. 
 
 "I christened him Eligor, in the absence of any 
 proof of his actual identity," Sir Edward answered. 
 "Here's another," he went on, touching with his 
 finger the effigy of a pot-bellied, bearded, crouching 
 creature, much less battered and formless than the 
 first. "His name is Sytry, though we may suspect 
 that he started life as Silenus. He is seven or eight 
 hundred years younger than the other, and was dug 
 up in Barca, while I was in the country. Poor old 
 Sytry! This fellow," he pointed to a larger head 
 of terra cotta, still bearing the traces of colouring, 
 and representing a man's face, fierce and progna-
 
 168 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 thous, the brows adorned with short bull's horns, "is 
 of a much earlier period, though not as old as Eli- 
 gor. I call him Gomory." 
 
 Shirley still remaining silent, her host picked up 
 a smaller head of terra cotta, and regarded it long. 
 Sharply indicated by the candle-light against the 
 background of white marble, there might have been 
 traced a fanciful resemblance between the still, well- 
 cut features of the former speculator and the pro- 
 file of the tiny and masterly sculpture that he stud- 
 ied. The hair of the image was, however, rougher 
 and more abundant ; and in one particular there was 
 a marked difference between the living man and his 
 prototype. The ears of the image, rising into points 
 that were scarcely human, called attention by their 
 contrast to the oddly flattened ears of Sir Edward. 
 
 "My tutelary deity — for the moment — Serguthy; 
 but I have paid homage to the others, and shall 
 again. We are changeable creatures." 
 
 Putting his hands in his jacket pockets, he gazed 
 at his guest so long and absent-mindedly that she 
 began to shift uneasily in her chair. 
 
 "What funny names !" she exclaimed, with a plain 
 attempt to break up his meditations. "I don't re- 
 member hearing them before." 
 
 "Very likely not. As I said, I gave them my- 
 self to these idols, having no positive means of know- 
 ing the actual intention of the artists." 
 
 "Did you make them up ?"
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 169 
 
 "Oh no! They are queer old Gothic words that 
 appeared to fit their owners. The rest have been 
 similarly baptized. Here," he told her, lifting a 
 seated figure that held in one hand a sceptre and 
 in the other an implement that seemed meant to 
 represent a small flail, "here is. . . . Here is 
 Madame Ladmirault !" 
 
 "Madame Ladmirault !" repeated Shirley, in some 
 surprise; but a second later the door opened, and 
 the two other guests of whom Sir Edward had 
 spoken entered the room.
 
 M 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII 
 
 ADAME LADMIEAULT greeted Sir Ed- 
 ward with a mixture of familiarity and re- 
 spect that would have befitted a dog which realises 
 that its caresses are no less likely to be rewarded 
 with a kick than with a pat. There was always a 
 quality in his courtesy that exercised a restraining 
 influence over the effusive. She professed to be en- 
 chanted to see Shirley, of whose beauty she expressed 
 her admiration at once in open speech. 
 
 "Elle est tres belle," she declared, nodding to her 
 host, with the phantom of a smile; and once 
 more ran her critical eyes over the girl from her 
 fair hair to the toes of her high-heeled slippers, and 
 back again. "Elle est tres belle," she repeated, with 
 another nod, and a sudden, almost fierce gravity, 
 as though angrily perceiving that it was vain to look 
 for more adequate words of praise. 
 
 She appeared to be nearer fifty than forty years 
 
 of age, a tall, broad, fat, muscular woman, who 
 
 radiated an over-powering vitality. Her dress, of 
 
 pale green and gold, was cut away to the waist at 
 
 the back and to the midriff in front, leaving her 
 
 torso and arms, as thick as a man's thigh, almost 
 
 naked, save for their impasto of dead white cos- 
 
 170
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 171 
 
 metic. One could still see that she had been a 
 handsome creature some years earlier, but her lips 
 had flattened and widened with age, there were violet 
 bags under her great, dark eyes, her chin had lost 
 itself in rolls of flesh, and her chevelure of crim- 
 son waves was very unconvincing. If it was a fact, 
 it was one of those abnormal facts which are con- 
 sidered inadmissible in a modern work of art. She 
 wore a quantity of valuable jewellery, and distilled 
 an obtrusive scent of carnations. 
 
 "Pity Miss Cresswell's modesty, Louise," Sir Ed- 
 ward amiably enjoined her, "and talk to her in Eng- 
 lish. She disclaims all knowledge of French ; only, 
 I am convinced, through shyness. But we must hu- 
 mour her." 
 
 "Oh, I am so sorry," cried Madame Ladmirault, in 
 her harshly unctuous tones. "My daughter speaks 
 only a few words of English, and I was hoping 
 you would be friends. Olga," she said in Erench, 
 "shake hands with Miss Cresswell." 
 
 The young girl, who had been standing, unnoticed 
 and on one leg, in the background, did as she was 
 bid, staring at Shirley with her black eyes. If her 
 mother was fat, she was as noticeably thin, and 
 had an ill-nourished and almost childish air, with 
 her long throat, narrow shoulders and chlorotic skin. 
 Yet she was pretty in a frail way, and her short 
 mop of stiff black hair, and dress of filmy white 
 gave her a picturesque appearance. When she had
 
 172 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 obeyed Madame Ladmirault's orders, she drew off 
 again a couple of paces, and continued to devour 
 Shirley with a regard of tragic earnestness. A mo- 
 ment later, Jerome announced dinner, setting open a 
 pair of folding doors at the end of the library which 
 displayed a candle-lit and flower-decked table await- 
 ing them. 
 
 The meal was sufficiently gay, for although Shir- 
 ley was not able entirely to recapture her ordinary 
 spirits, and Olga was almost dumb from the soup 
 to the coffee, Madame Ladmirault was an agile con- 
 versationalist, while Sir Edward himself had never, 
 during Shirley's friendship with him, shewn himself 
 more companionable and amusing. With the inten- 
 tion, no doubt, of erasing the memory of any dis- 
 piriting first impressions of New Place which might 
 linger in the mind of the novice, he entirely discarded 
 the aloofness of manner to which, even in his best 
 moods, he was prone, and took pains to win laughter 
 and interest from his company. To Shirley he was 
 flatteringly polite and provident, treating her in a 
 marked way as the guest of the evening, breaking 
 off in the middle of a remark to the older woman 
 at the least sign of speech from the younger, and al- 
 most wholly ignoring the French girl. The mother 
 accepted this as the freedom of an old friend, while 
 Olga was plainly only too happy to be forgotten. 
 She appeared exceedingly nervous, as if it were her 
 first experience of a grown-up dinner party; com-
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 173 
 
 mitting various minor solecisms in table manners, 
 and, in the intervals of hollow-eyed staring at the 
 English girl who sat opposite to her, shooting anxious 
 glances towards her stalwart mother. Her fleshless 
 little hands, too, trembled most of the time, whether 
 with embarrassment or some actual affection of the 
 health it was difficult to guess. During the whole 
 of the dinner she made no remark, except an occa- 
 sional "oui, maman," "non, monsieur," when directly 
 addressed. The few complimentary frivolities which 
 Sir Edward tossed to her, she accepted without even 
 the acknowledgment of a smile. There were times 
 when the expression in her eyes, as Shirley acciden- 
 tally met them, seemed to hold some message or en- 
 quiry; but apart from the fact that Shirley was ig- 
 norant of her language, the cheerfulness of her other 
 companions, and the consolingly lively aspect of the 
 round table, glittering with silver and crystal and 
 gaudy with flowers, would have been likely to turn 
 her thoughts into more entertaining channels than the 
 unexpressed discomforts of a shy debutante. 
 
 Of the coming ceremony scarcely anything was said 
 after the first few minutes, during which Sir Edward 
 casually informed Madame Ladmirault, in English, 
 that an introductory ritual, for initiates of the order 
 only, would take place at ten o'clock, and that Shir- 
 ley's presentation would follow it. The lady nodded, 
 and expressed her approval of these arrangements, 
 which she did not take the trouble to communicate
 
 174 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 to Olga; and she added a few rallying words on 
 the subject to Shirley. 
 
 "You are getting nervous, my dear, aren't you? 
 I understand so well. You are young — twenty-five ? 
 Impossible! — and you are of the neurotic tempera- 
 ment — yes. So is my Olga; she was also a little 
 stupid about it at first; she laughs now 
 when she thinks of it. Ah, you may trust in Sir 
 Edward ; he is so fond of you — I don't wonder. He 
 will look after you." 
 
 A shower of significant nods and a gurgle of pro- 
 vocative laughter accompanied her words, as she 
 screwed up her puffy eyelids in a new look of admira- 
 tion. 
 
 "Miss Cresswell has quite recovered her balance by 
 now," Sir Edward proclaimed, in a tone of grave af- 
 fection, "but we mustn't chaff her on the subject, or 
 she may fly off at a new tangent. I've had great 
 difficulty in bringing her to the scratch, Louise ; it 
 took time and trouble to win her confidence. She 
 has but a poor opinion of the human race. You've 
 no idea how rusee she is." 
 
 "I could not have guessed it," Madame Ladmirault 
 confessed. "She looks so delightfully simple." 
 
 Sir Edward shook his head smilingly. 
 
 "Nobody could take her in," he said slowly in 
 French. "I pity anyone who tries. They would 
 be wasting their labour. You needn't tell her the
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 176 
 
 character I'm giving her; but she's a sly little 
 thing." 
 
 Dinner had been late, and the party lingered 
 over their coffee and cigarettes; but shortly before 
 half past nine, the host rose in his place. 
 
 "Well," he said, "we ought to be preparing, I sup- 
 pose. I take it for granted that more of our friends 
 have arrived by this time ; and those that haven't we 
 must do without. Louise, will you and Olga get 
 ready, and join us downstairs in half an hour or 
 so?" 
 
 The big woman was also on her feet. The food 
 and wine, which she had fully appreciated, had left 
 some marks of their consumption in her laboured 
 breathing and suffused eyes; but the whiteness of 
 her complexion was unchangeable by internal means. 
 She still held a cigarette between her twisted, scarlet 
 lips, puffing at it with lightning rapidity, as she ad- 
 dressed her daughter in her native language. 
 
 "Come, darling ; we are to go back to our rooms." 
 
 "Oui, maman," answered the girl obediently, over- 
 setting her chair as she sprang up. 
 
 "As for you, Shirley," Sir Edward continued, 
 "perhaps you'd like to have a look at our chapel, 
 would you ? After that, I shall be obliged to leave 
 you to yourself for some time ; partly because I shall 
 be otherwise engaged, and partly because it's most 
 desirable that you should have time to get your-
 
 176 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 self in tune for the ceremony. You would find it 
 difficult to walk, in a suitable state of mind, almost 
 directly from a dinner table to a solemn rite. At a 
 later stage you will learn to lay aside the pettiness 
 of everyday life at a moment's notice; but you are 
 only a beginner yet." 
 
 While he was speaking to her, with a return of 
 his dignified tranquillity, Madame Ladmirault had 
 reached the folding doors, and, at this moment, looked 
 sharply over her shoulder. 
 
 "Olga!" she exclaimed, with an imperative glance; 
 and Shirley, starting at the loudness of her voice, 
 turned quickly in the direction to which the French- 
 woman's stare was aimed. Olga had sidled quietly 
 round the table, and was now standing behind her, 
 almost touching her elbow, her black eyes dilated, her 
 colourless lips a little parted. 
 
 "Olga, viens !" cried her mother. 
 
 "Oui, madame," the girl hurriedly answered, but 
 her swift submission appeared to infuriate Madame 
 Ladmirault. An extraordinary violence convulsed 
 her face, but before she could speak, Sir Edward 
 had intervened with suave distinctiveness. 
 
 "Don't scold the child, Louise," he begged, patting 
 Olga kindly on her narrow shoulder. "You'll un- 
 fit her for this evening. There! Take her away 
 and console her." 
 
 All the anger had deserted the mother's face be- 
 fore he had spoken a dozen words ; and, when he
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 177 
 
 ceased, she passed her arm lovingly round her daugh- 
 ter's waist and drew her out of the room, looking 
 back to nod in the same intimate manner to Sir Ed- 
 ward before she disappeared. He gave no answer- 
 ing sign, but, having pulled a bell-rope, turned to 
 Shirley. 
 
 ''I've rung for Jerome to show you back to your 
 room, because I want you to wrap yourself up well — 
 I suggest a fur coat, if you brought one with you. 
 The chapel is cold. I also have to make some 
 change of dress; and I will fetch you in a few min- 
 utes. ... I trust that you're feeling quite yourself 
 again, by now ?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied slowly. "Oh yes ! I think I'm 
 all right." 
 
 "Think as little as may be," he recommended, pat- 
 ting her shoulder as he had patted Olga's, a thing 
 he had never done to her before, for he was notice- 
 ably chary of touching his friends. "Keep your mind 
 quite at rest. Anticipate nothing. Conjure up no 
 pictures. Remember, if you like, something of what 
 I've taught you, if you don't find it disturbing. 
 Float ... let yourself go. What we call reality, you 
 know, is no more than a transparent disguise, a rather 
 ugly and obvious mask. You're on the brink of 
 truer and bigger things. . . . Jerome, take Miss 
 Cresswell back to her room." 
 
 The departure of the other guests, the cessation 
 of the chatter of the table, and the return to less
 
 178 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 normal subjects had their effect on Shirley. Her 
 face once more grew anxious and she seemed on 
 the point of making some appeal or addressing some 
 enquiry to her friend, but he bowed her out with 
 a formal finality, and she was obliged to follow the 
 discreet figure of the butler into the upper regions 
 of the still utterly noiseless house. 
 
 It was nearly a quarter of an hour later before 
 there came a knock upon her bedroom door; and 
 when, mufiled in her long fur coat, she opened it, 
 she fell back a little, despite the notice that her host 
 had given of a change in his attire. The ex-specu- 
 lator was dressed, in a manner startlingly unlike his 
 usual careful conventionality, in a black cassock but- 
 toned from throat to knee, and thence hanging in 
 loose folds onto his feet, which were covered only 
 with sandals. In this monastic array, he looked 
 greatly taller and even more imposing than ever, and 
 his manner had changed with his costume. His pale 
 face was rigidly set, the heavy white lids drooped 
 over his eyes, and he gave no smile, as might have 
 been expected, at Shirley's innocently expressed as- 
 tonishment, although he referred to it verbally. 
 
 "You're ready? Come along, then! I'm sorry 
 I startled you, but I gave you warning, didn't I? 
 The vestments that I wear at our assemblies could 
 not possibly be put over modern dress. You your- 
 self will be veiled; and, as it happens, the frock
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 179 
 
 you are wearing is entirely suitable. Otherwise I 
 should have had to ask you to change it." 
 
 While he spoke he was conducting her in the di- 
 rection of the library; but, before they reached it, 
 he opened a door on his left hand and motioned to 
 Shirley to pass through it before him. She found 
 herself in what was probably the study to which he 
 had previously made some reference ; a grave, drowsy 
 retreat, adorned with richly bound books in stands 
 of carved ebony, warmed with the dying embers of 
 a fire, and lighted, like Shirley's bedroom, with 
 candles in branched sconces. In an alcove at the 
 further end, partly veiled by a faded carpet hang- 
 ing from a rod, a small organ had been built. The 
 lids of the manuals were open, and a whirring, 
 breathy noise within seemed to denote that the bel- 
 lows were being blown by some mechanical device. 
 Shirley looked enquiringly at her companion's set 
 face. She seemed to want confidence to originate 
 any conversation herself, but followed Sir Edward 
 and briefly answered what was said to her, with the 
 docility that a school-child might show towards its 
 master. 
 
 "You didn't know I played? It is an essential 
 part of our ritual. Nothing but music can induce 
 certain transcendent moods — you must have realised 
 that before now. I will go before you here ; be care- 
 ful how you follow."
 
 180 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 He pushed back a curtain in one wall of the 
 recess, and now began to descend a narrow flight of 
 stone steps. There was no light on this steep stair- 
 way, but sufficient followed them from the study to 
 make the passage easy. At the bottom was a short 
 tunnel, the end of which was closed by a heavy 
 drapery; and Sir Edward, holding this aside, allowed 
 Shirley to precede him into the chapel of the secret 
 order to which she was soon to be admitted. 
 
 For some seconds the eye, accustomed to the com- 
 parative brightness of the rooms above, was unable 
 to make out the details of the place, the only plainly 
 visible object being a lighted lamp of deep blue glass, 
 which, hanging on thin chains from the roof, fur- 
 nished the sole illumination. Little by little, how- 
 ever, things began to take shape. Shirley and her 
 silent associate were standing on a platform or dais 
 of stone, raised on three wide and shallow steps above 
 the floor of a small vault, the groined ceiling of which 
 was not more than a dozen feet above their heads. 
 In the side walls five deep niches had been cut into 
 the stone, three on the left hand and two on the 
 right. They were of sufficient size to have held life- 
 size statues, but contained nothing but certain small 
 implements, lying on the flags; in one a stick, or 
 wand, about five feet in length, in the second a shep- 
 herd's crook. The others held a sickle and two un- 
 sheathed and long-bladed knives, one with a dark, 
 the other with a white hilt. Above these niches
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 181 
 
 hung banners of a dark blue, embroidered in various, 
 presumably symbolic, devices; primitively simple 
 representations of an heraldic rose, set against a 
 gold cross, of a fleur-de-lis, of a snake curled about 
 a stick, of a large capital T, and of the Greek letter 
 Phi. On the right-hand wall, where the third niche 
 should have been to balance the number of those op- 
 posite, a door of dark wood, silver hinged and 
 handled, marked the position of an ambry. At Shir- 
 ley's elbow, in the middle of the dais, a great cano- 
 pied chair, or throne, stood with its back to the 
 curtain that shielded the entrance; and these heavy 
 draperies, as well as a similar one that hung at the 
 further end of the vault, were of the same blue as 
 the banners, and gorgeously stitched with silver 
 thread. On the further side of the chair, a big, 
 tongueless bell of bronze was supported in a rough 
 wooden frame; and there seemed to be nothing else 
 in the room, except three long benches, set back 
 a few yards from the lowest step of the dais. But 
 the most conspicuous quality of the cellar was the 
 cruel, the glacial cold. It seemed as if the savagery 
 of the December night must have been in some way 
 artificially intensified ; or as if the rigours of a hun- 
 dred winters had been hoarded in this subterranean 
 chamber. It was a cold that stung the skin, hurt the 
 lungs to inhale, and laid a stifling hand on the heart. 
 Shirley caught her breath, and shook from head 
 to foot
 
 182 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 "Yes," agreed Sir Edward, looking at her quietly- 
 through the blue obscurity. "It is a condition that 
 is desirable for our initiates in the earlier part of 
 our rites. You will not find it like this, by the time 
 you are called to take your share in them. We 
 mustn't stay here now; time is getting on. Follow 
 me!" 
 
 Without further remark from the man, or any 
 question or comment from his disciple, they tra- 
 versed the length of the dim room, and passed out 
 behind the deep folds of the glimmering curtain. 
 Here, in a little bracket on the wall, a hand-lamp 
 was burning ; and Sir Edward, taking it in his hand, 
 led Shirley through an open doorway and up a second 
 flight of stairs, which wound steeply into the upper 
 storeys. These steps circled round a thick pillar, 
 giving the impression of having been built in a tower 
 contrived against the outer wall of the house; for 
 there was no landing or break in them of any kind, 
 although their number shewed that they must reach 
 into the highest floor. The walls were damply 
 crumbling, and glittered here and there with a crys- 
 talline efflorescence; nor was there any window or 
 loophole to admit the light by day. The pallid 
 flame of the hand-lamp, going on before, finally dis- 
 played a pointed archway, filled with a heavy oaken 
 door, studded with flat nail-heads ; and, when it had 
 been pushed open, the pair emerged into a circular 
 room, the warmth and clarity of which made a grate-
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 183 
 
 ful contrast to the icy gloom below. It was, however, 
 very sparely furnished with a table, on which a few 
 books lay, and two elbow-chairs ; nor was there either 
 blind or curtain to hide the tall sash-window. But 
 the carpet on the floor, the fire on the hearth, and 
 the silver lamp on the table, made amends for other 
 deficiencies. To the right of the archway by which 
 they had entered, a second door of the same pattern 
 as the first led, it might be assumed, into the main 
 building. Sir Edward, blowing out his hand-lamp 
 and setting it on the chimney-piece, waved Shirley 
 to a chair, and stood, erect and solemn in his flowing 
 cassock, before her. The girl, slipping her fur coat 
 from her shoulders, looked anxiously up into his 
 face; but there was nothing to be read in its mask- 
 like immobility. 
 
 "Here," he told her, "I'm obliged to leave you 
 alone for a time. I'm afraid it can't be less than 
 an hour, but I hope you won't find it too tedious. If 
 you are bored, there is something for you to read; 
 but, above all, you should do your best to empty your 
 mind of the ordinary affairs and interests of life. I 
 don't want to agitate you by overrating the impor- 
 tance of to-night's events ; but they represent, as you 
 know, a long step — a far longer one than you have 
 yet taken. Shirley, I have every confidence in your 
 powers of reception and resolution, and yet I own 
 that I await the result with profound anxiety." 
 
 It was true. For all his determined impassivity
 
 184 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 of aspect, his voice was not absolutely under con- 
 trol, and it was manifest that he was imposing great 
 restraint on himself. Once or twice, as he was speak- 
 ing, he raised his downcast eyes and permitted their 
 illegible lambency to play over the slim, black figure 
 before him, with a haste that was almost furtive. 
 If looks did not belie him, he was, for the first time 
 in the months of their friendship, nervous. 
 
 "One more thing," he continued, folding his hands 
 in a priestly manner. "I particularly ask you not 
 to leave this room until I come back. Your presence 
 amongst us might be wanted at any moment, and it 
 would be exceedingly troublesome to find you gone. 
 This door," he added, opening it a few inches and 
 shutting it again, "leads into the third-floor corridor ; 
 and, in case of need, a call would bring one of the 
 servants, who will be within hearing. They sleep on 
 this floor. ... I suppose I need not warn you 
 against coming down the chapel stairs until you are 
 summoned. You will understand that any interrup- 
 tion of our service would be greatly resented." 
 
 He was silent for over a minute, staring at the 
 carpet, and presently added : 
 
 "It would be unpardonable. You understand ?" 
 
 With the last words, he raised his face and looked 
 at her seriously. 
 
 "Yes," she answered in a nervous undertone. 
 
 He nodded and turned away towards the stone
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 185 
 
 stairs, darting a last doubtful look back at her as 
 he disappeared into the gloom. Then the door shut 
 behind him, and she was alone. 
 
 For some time she sat motionless, now with empty 
 eyes, now gazing unthinkingly at the leaping fire, the 
 pattern of the carpet, the books on the table. One 
 of these she presently drew towards her, and, open- 
 ing it at random, turned over a page or two. A 
 small subsidence of the coals in the fireplace brought 
 her mind from her reading with a start, and she 
 turned her attention to the window. The glossy 
 black oblong threw back her own seated image and 
 that of the placid lamp, as if it were a mirror ; but 
 of outside objects nothing whatever was to be seen. 
 After studying the reflected picture for a little, she 
 rose from her chair, and, crossing the room, put her 
 face close to the glass. From this position it was 
 possible to make out, at the distance of a few inches 
 only, the sturdy, naked branch of a tree; but, be- 
 yond this, the darkness was utterly empty, breath- 
 lessly still. There was not even that faint crackle 
 of frost that may often be heard on a windless night 
 in midwinter. Shirley peered long into the vacancy 
 before returning to her place, pausing on her way be- 
 fore the second chair, upon the seat of which lay a 
 folded bundle of deep blue stuff. Picking this up 
 and shaking it out of its creases, she discovered it 
 to consist of two long, filmy veils — the robes of her
 
 186 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 novitiate, no doubt. She dropped them where she 
 had found them, and applied herself again, with a 
 small frown of determination, to her book. 
 
 At first she seemed to be successful in pinning her 
 mind to this old and heavily bound quarto ; but pres- 
 ently uneasiness made itself once more apparent. 
 She closed the covers hastily, and sat drumming her 
 fingers on the edge of the table, occasionally twist- 
 ing her head rapidly to look over her shoulder. 
 Twice she reopened the book, twice she shut it ; and 
 then, rising to her feet, took a few indecisive steps 
 up and down the room, before coming to a stand- 
 still by the corridor door, her face turned sideways 
 towards it, as if listening. 
 
 So she remained, holding her breath, for some 
 time, before putting her fingers on the looped handle, 
 and, with every precaution against noise, slowly turn- 
 ing it. For all her care, a faint click resulted, and 
 she paused again, with raised eyebrows and an intent 
 face, before drawing the door gently towards her, 
 and putting her head round the edge of it. Before 
 her lay a long, straight corridor, flanked on either 
 side by doors, brightly lighted with oil lamps, the 
 floor covered with coarse matting. All of these doors, 
 except one, were shut; the one which had been left 
 open shewing only the pitch darkness of a presumably 
 empty room. Shirley took a step across the thres- 
 hold, hesitated, and then walked gingerly a yard or 
 two down the passage, turning anxious eyes on the
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 187 
 
 gloom of the open doorway as she passed it. From 
 the hidden interior of one of the bedrooms beyond 
 came a faint sound, the noise of slow and heavy 
 breathing; and the girl halted once more, to incline 
 her head towards the panels of the door. 
 
 "Yes, Miss?" said a voice enquiringly, at her el- 
 bow. 
 
 "Oh!" cried Shirley, jumping round with a little 
 scream of fear. Mrs. Skinner, the negro maid, stood 
 close beside her, her thick lips rolled back from her 
 dazzling teeth in a subservient smile. 
 
 "Oh, how you startled me!" gasped Shirley 
 angrily. 
 
 "I heard you, Miss, from my room. Can I do 
 anything for you?" 
 
 "Yes," Shirley answered her hurriedly; and then 
 broke off to contemplate the servant's sly, laugh- 
 ing face. "No," she corrected herself, growing a 
 little paler. "No, it doesn't matter," and she turned 
 back in the direction from which she had come. 
 
 "Nothing I can get for you, Miss?" the negress 
 urged, following close beside her. "The master 
 said — " 
 
 "Nothing, thank you. I was only just looking — " 
 
 Without finishing the sentence she was back in 
 her lonely room, trembling and frowning, her palm 
 pressed against the heavy door which separated her 
 from the intrusive black woman. Once or twice 
 she shewed signs of returning to the passage, but
 
 188 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 she never got beyond the point of raising the latch ; 
 and finally, crossing the floor with a heavy sigh, 
 she stared for long minutes gloomily out through 
 the uncurtained window. "When she turned away 
 from it, it was with a certain air of resolution 
 and haste; the manner of one who has taken a 
 rash decision and is too well aware that the cour- 
 age necessary for its fulfilment is likely to be short- 
 lived. Quietly opening the door of the cellar-steps, 
 she descended to the first turn of the stairway, 
 and peeped down into the gloom beneath. No 
 sound ascended from below, and, touching the wall 
 with her fingers, as a guide to her feet, she crept 
 a little further. Still the silence was profound; 
 and, with a disappointed face, she came back into 
 the light and warmth, and fell into a further medita- 
 tion. But anxiety evidently won; for picking up 
 her fur coat, she slipped her arms into the sleeves, 
 and, still with the same affrighted speed, groped 
 her way downwards towards the chapel, this time 
 without stopping for an instant on the way. The 
 first ten steps plunged her into utter blackness, but 
 the construction of the staircase made it possible 
 to accomplish the descent without any great danger 
 of a slip. The heavy stillness of the air gave the 
 impression of entering a catacomb; and even when 
 her feet told her that she had reached level ground, 
 there was not a whisper to betray the neighbour- 
 hood of the assembly which should, by now, be
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 189 
 
 in the midst of the mysterious rites which pre- 
 ceded her own initiation. Almost at once, her 
 hand, stretched out before her, encountered an ob- 
 stacle which might partly account for this voice- 
 less desolation. The door of the low archway which 
 divided the stairs from the chapel had been shut; 
 and, passing her hand over that portion of the 
 surface where the handle and keyhole should nor- 
 mally have been, she could discover neither. It 
 would seem that the door fastened from inside only. 
 She pressed her cheek against the woodwork, and 
 waited, a shiver occasionally running down ner 
 from head to foot, although the air of the passage 
 was by no means so cold as it had been when she 
 last passed through it. 
 
 The interval that elapsed before her curiosity was 
 rewarded might have been five or ten minutes, 
 though to the listener it must have seemed like 
 hours. From some incalculable distance came a 
 sound; or, rather, one became conscious of a vi- 
 bration which, it was felt, had been long present, 
 but unrecognised; difficult, at first, to differentiate 
 from the pulse of blood behind the ear-drums; a 
 rhythmic shudder which, by slow degrees, took 
 on a tonal quality. So it persisted for a while 
 and then fell to a lower note. Behind this closed 
 door and the thickness of the two great curtains, 
 someone was holding the keys of the organ, produc- 
 ing a succession of siDgle notes, long-drawn, muffled,
 
 190 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 and apparently chosen quite arbitrarily. They stood 
 in no relation to each other, and were possibly in- 
 tended only to accustom the ear gradually to the dis- 
 turbance of the silence; for presently the unseen 
 player passed into combinations of notes that grew 
 ever more complex and various. An uninstructed 
 mind was incapable of forming them into a melody, 
 or even a disconnected sequence of melodic phrases ; 
 yet it was abundantly clear that they were not the 
 product of a wanton or ignorant wandering over 
 the manuals and pedals. Behind them lay a defin- 
 ite intention, an individual and even imperious per- 
 sonality. Long as the time of waiting had seemed, 
 this odd and disturbing performance appeared greatly 
 longer. Although the air overflowed and trembled 
 with sound, it never rose above a murmur, nor 
 paused for an instant. There were times when it had 
 suggestions of a primeval simplicity; others when 
 it was distractingly involute, full of gross harmon- 
 ies, and dissonances that were a pain. Progessions 
 broke off, as the grateful ear began to recognise 
 them, in unmodulated flights to remote keys ; and no 
 alteration in volume of tone ever marked these start- 
 ling aberrations. Yet through it all ran an over- 
 whelming affirmation that something was being ex- 
 pressed, some secret that struggled to make itself 
 comprehensible; infinitely elusive; now manifestly 
 and triumphantly cruel, now inexplicably unclean, 
 again merely unintelligible. It was like listening
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 191 
 
 to some very old man, his faculties almost gone, 
 maundering and licking his chops over the memories 
 of a long and vile life ; losing the thread of his tale, 
 passing from it into a thousand extravagances, se- 
 nilely oblivious of the plan with which he had set 
 out; and yet surfeited with vanity and retrospec- 
 tive delight in his own achievement and contests and 
 bestialities. Heard in this velvety blackness, it pro- 
 duced an invincible sense of loathing. 
 
 It ceased, on an unresolved discord, as inconse- 
 quently as it had begun ; the stillness reformed itself, 
 and endured until the recollection of what had broken 
 it up became unreal and incredible. Once or twice 
 Shirley beat a cautiously hasty retreat up the stairs, 
 to a point where she was hidden by the central pil- 
 lar, as if in fear that the ceremony was finished, and 
 that the door might at any moment be opened upon 
 her prying; but as she was drawn back from one 
 of these panic flights to her former position, a new 
 sound within the chapel held her motionless. A 
 curious chanting was to be heard, which, while re- 
 calling the Catholic office, yet seemed to be delivered 
 with vastly more passion and vehemence than a 
 priest employs. The single bass voice which pro- 
 duced it must have been of extraordinary sonority, 
 for though the intervening barriers necessarily di- 
 minished it greatly, it yet came quite loudly to the 
 listener. No words, however, could be distin- 
 guished ; nothing but a deep musical note, constantly
 
 192 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 and slowly repeated; yet, for all its deliberation, 
 charged with enthusiasm. Every few minutes it 
 broke off for a longer or shorter period ; and one 
 could conceive the unseen officiant turning to a new 
 prayer in his mystic breviary, or pausing to per- 
 form some ceremonial act or gesture. The number 
 of these exhortations or invocations seemed endless ; 
 but Shirley shewed no further disposition to leave her 
 post, though the ecclesiastical nature of the sounds 
 might have been expected to reassure her as to the 
 character of the service that was taking place. This 
 measured intoning to a noiseless congregation was 
 just such a solemn and decent ceremony as the novice 
 should have foreseen from the hints thrown by Sir 
 Edward in the past. 
 
 At length the chanting came to an end ; and, after 
 a brief silence, the girl drew her coat closely about 
 her in readiness for flight. Evidently, however, 
 something caught her attention as she was turning 
 away, for she applied her ear yet more closely to 
 the crack of the door, and seemed as though struck 
 into stone. A new and peculiar noise was just pre- 
 ceptible; one that suggested the low and guarded 
 murmur of a number of voices, a humming, almost in- 
 audible, note, often reinforced by a sibilant hiss; 
 and, in the midst of it, a perfectly unmistakable 
 sound — the high quaver of a woman's laugh. It was 
 gone as soon as it came, broken in the middle, as 
 if hastily stifled; but its effect, in contrast with the
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 193 
 
 hushed vibration and the ceremonial intoning that 
 had preceded it, was startling and ugly ; and Shirley, 
 rigidly crouching against the door-post gave a sob- 
 bing gasp in sympathy. At about this time the air of 
 the passage began to be faintly charged with a scent, 
 sharply different from its own odour of mouldering 
 dampness; a perfume both sweet and sickly, the 
 smell of lilies dying in a warm room. It grew ever 
 stronger, until it was inexpressibly cloying, and even 
 disgusting. Yet in some way it stirred the imagina- 
 tion, sending it journeying on strange byways. In 
 the dark, Shirley's figure swayed slightly against 
 the door-post. 
 
 Of a sudden, the great chanting voice was uplifted 
 again, this time in but a few words, thrown out with 
 a swifter and intenser exaltation ; and, as they ceased, 
 a curious crooning was distinctly audible above the 
 murmuring undercurrent. Whether it was expres- 
 sive of pleasure or sorrow it was hard to deter- 
 mine. It had a stifled effect, as though produced 
 behind closed lips. 'So might some brave sufferer 
 have sought to repress the moans of pain ; yet again 
 it might as well have resulted from an inarticulate 
 joy, a savage satisfaction, like that of a cat purring 
 over its still living prey. The very uncertainty 
 of its nature gave it a disturbing weirdness. For 
 some time it rose and fell persistently, and then died, 
 and, with it, the hissing whisper that had accom- 
 panied it. While one could have counted twenty the
 
 194 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 whole vault, like the bending figure of the eaves- 
 dropper, seemed to hold its breath ; and then, with- 
 out warning, the incense-laden blackness was torn by 
 a scream so deafening and piercing that Shirley 
 sprang erect with a loud answering cry of uncon- 
 trollable horror. At the same instant, from the hid- 
 den chapel burst out a sound of which none could mis- 
 take the meaning, though its cause was unseen and 
 it had never been met before; one seldom heard 
 publicly in the modern world ; the hideous, guttural 
 "Aaaah !" that sickens the foreign spectator at the 
 side of the Spanish bull-ring; the gasp of many voices 
 let loose by a common ghastly joy. And on the 
 heels of this dreadful clamour, a perfect babel of 
 Bedlamite uproar broke forth, hoarse cries, broken 
 words, choking shrieks and shouts, and, high above 
 all, the same shrill laugh that had been once before 
 heard, renewed again and again in ever madder and 
 fiercer frenzy, and pursuing Shirley as she fled in 
 horror up the narrow stairway. 
 
 Breathless with its steepness and her frantic haste, 
 she burst at last through the arched door at the top 
 into the lamp-lit room, crossed it at a run, and laid 
 hold of the handle of the corridor door. It turned 
 in her hand, but the door itself remained immovable. 
 Clearly, during her absence from the room, someone 
 had locked or bolted it from without. She tore at 
 it madly ; she flung her weight against it ; the solid 
 wooden barrier did not even shake in its frame.
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 195 
 
 After some seconds of futile struggle, she fell back; 
 and, with eyes distraught with fear, looked quickly 
 about her. The gleaming mirror of the tall win- 
 dow held her gaze; and, swaying and shaking from 
 head to foot, she ran over to it, and caught the 
 frame in her hands. The lower sash was unlatched, 
 but one of the cords was broken ; and it took a consid- 
 erable exercise of the girl's strength to push it up- 
 wards. After thrusting head and shoulders out 
 into the night, she hurried back to the table and 
 fetched the lamp. By the clear light of its amber 
 flame, burning unwaveringly in the motionless air, a 
 little more of the surroundings could be seen ; the 
 upper part of the neighbouring tree, and its bole, 
 running downwards between spreading and leafless 
 boughs, until it disappeared in the gloom. An ac- 
 tive climber could easily have got astride one of the 
 bigger limbs from the window-sill, and so probably, 
 even in the blindness of midnight, reached earth 
 safely. It looked a hopeless road for a London 
 girl, hobbled with skirts, half crazed with fear, and 
 of paltry physical strength ; but Shirley seemed to 
 consider its possibilities for some time, before shut- 
 ting the window mechanically, and returning to 
 shake the door again, and even call aloud for help, 
 in her impotent anger. 
 
 It was long before, assured that all paths were 
 closed to her except that which led back to the sinister 
 rites of the cellar chapel, she fell weeping into one
 
 196 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 of the chairs, dropping her face onto the fur-clad 
 arms which she threw across the table. Whether si- 
 lence had returned to the hidden assembly, or the 
 twists of the staircase smothered the sound of their 
 voices, certainly it was as still again in the room as 
 it had been before Shirley set out on her voyage 
 of discovery. Gradually the sound of her own sob- 
 bing breath calmed into apathy, and she lay there in- 
 ert, as if lifeless or asleep. A faint sound from the 
 stone stairway however was enough to bring her to 
 an upright position in a flash, staring with a face 
 of pale fascination on the archway. Someone was 
 coming quickly and bare-footed up the steps. She 
 leapt to her feet and across the room, with the evi- 
 dent intention of shutting the door between herself 
 and the newcomer. But he reached it before she 
 did; and she retreated dumbly, feeling behind her 
 for the support of the table, as the figure of Sir- 
 Edward, clad in his cassock and with his feet stripped 
 of their sandals, filled the entrance.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE man was mad with excitement. Even his 
 iron will was unable to conceal the fact. Al- 
 though his teeth were tightly set, there was a per- 
 ceptible tremor of the muscles of the face, a constant 
 flutter of the eyelids. Pale as ever, his skin was 
 shiny with half-dried sweat, and his eyes, illegible no 
 longer, blazed with a horrible ecstasy. One hand 
 gripped the other wrist, but the shaking of it was 
 not to be so overcome. He confronted Shirley 
 speechlessly for many seconds, before he found his 
 voice. 
 
 "We're ready for you now," he said at last breath- 
 lessly, essaying an encouraging smile, but achieving 
 no more than a mechanical rictus, fearfuly contra- 
 dicted by his flaming stare. 
 
 Shirley made no answer. She had fallen back, 
 with disordered hair and a desperate, tear-stained 
 face, to the table, against which she leaned heavily, 
 no less white and shaking than her companion. 
 
 "You've been crying," he murmured, with a sort 
 of greedy delight. "Silly child! You've been 
 frightening yourself. . . . Pull yourself together! 
 Remember I expect you to do me credit at your in- 
 itiation." 
 
 197
 
 198 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 The word brought the girl back from her bemuse- 
 ment. 
 
 "I won't !" she said hurriedly, and almost inaudi- 
 
 bly. 
 
 He made a quick step towards her, stopped, took 
 a deep breath, and dropped his head, so that his eyes 
 were hidden. The fingers of his right hand tight- 
 ened visibly on his left wrist, and the struggle to re- 
 press the fury aroused by her words was abundantly 
 plain. By the time he replied, however, he had suc- 
 ceeded in recapturing a little of the usual colour- 
 less courtesy of his everyday tones; but the surface 
 of his face still worked and shivered like water about 
 to boil, and he was careful to refrain from looking 
 at her. 
 
 "I don't understand you. You won't what?" 
 
 She uttered no word, but her eyes were filled with, 
 a despairing defiance. 
 
 "You're overwrought," he said slowly. "Well, 
 I'm not surprised, I foresaw it, to some extent. The 
 whole affair is outside your ordinary experience. . . . 
 But there's no great hurry, after all. Take your 
 time." 
 
 "I won't!" she tremulously maintained. "I'm 
 not going to do it. I won't come back to that cellar. 
 Let me out ! Sir Edward, let me out of this room !" 
 
 "Now, Shirley ! Don't lose your head," he begged, 
 without a movement. "Be quiet for a moment, and 
 listen to me. Be quiet, I tell you ! What's thrown
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 199 
 
 you into this silly state of fuss? . . . You haven't 
 been out of this room ?" 
 
 With the last words, which seemed to have occurred 
 to him unexpectedly, he looked quickly up. The 
 great translucent eyes still burnt and glared, but the 
 frenzy that had lighted them was little by little giv- 
 ing way to a kind of distracted craftiness, and he 
 kept them fixed on Shirley menacingly. 
 
 "No!" she assured him, with a terrified gasp. 
 
 "Then what in the world ... ?" He broke off, 
 and seemed to rearrange the form of his question. 
 "I thought possibly you'd been scaring yourself by 
 prowling about dark passages ; perhaps meeting that 
 nigger girl that you found alarming, for some absurd 
 reason. But if you've been sitting quietly here by 
 yourself, all the time — you swear you have?" 
 
 He shot the question at her suspiciously, and she 
 gave a dumb nod, while the arm which supported her 
 against the table bent as if she would have fallen. 
 
 "Then what's happened to change your state of 
 mind ? I left you here, not half an hour . . ." 
 
 Before he could say more, she burst into a torrent 
 of half whispered words. 
 
 "Let me out ! I won't go back. I'm terrified. 
 Sir Edward, do let me out ! You swore you would, 
 if I asked you. You know you did. Oh, do let me 
 go ! I feel so ill. I can't stand any more. Oh, 
 please let me out!" 
 
 "Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, you stupid creature !"
 
 200 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 he cried, smothering her prayers in a loud sternness. 
 "Whether you go or stay, you certainly can't go in 
 this baby state. Sit down and collect your senses. 
 Then we'll talk it over rationally." 
 
 "I will get out — I will !" she sobbed, and was again 
 at the door, shaking it with all her strength. He 
 watched her coldly. 
 
 "It's locked," he told her presently. "You see 
 that. What's the use of battering at a locked door ? 
 One would scarcely believe that you're a grown 
 woman. Come here and sit down, as I told you." 
 
 She turned her back to the door, gazing on him 
 vacantly, and slightly shook her head ; but there was 
 no courage in her face. 
 
 "Come here and sit down!" he roared suddenly, 
 throwing up his chin, and permitting a look of malig- 
 nant fury to peep for an instant out of its ambush. 
 
 Shirley took a step to one of the chairs, swayed 
 sideways, and collapsed into it and against the table, 
 with closed eyes. After contemplating her thought- 
 fully for a little while, Sir Edward picked up one 
 of her wrists, held it for a second or so, and then 
 carelessly dropped it. Still she did not stir; and 
 taking a key from under his cassock, he went out 
 through the door leading into the corridor, locking it 
 again behind him. It was some minutes before he 
 returned, his features now almost wholty composed 
 to the semblance of grave concern, bearing a bed- 
 room carafe and tumbler in his hands. Shirley's
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 201 
 
 eyes were open again, and her cheek rested on her 
 hand, but she was as white as snow, and seemed 
 hardly to understand her surroundings. He half 
 filled the tumbler and, coming close beside her, put 
 his left hand on her shoulder, and with the other held 
 the glass to her lips. 
 
 "Drink some of this," he said encouragingly. 
 
 She sipped it slowly, without looking at him ; and 
 when she at last turned her head away from the glass, 
 he put it aside with the bottle, and took the chair 
 opposite to hers, resting his elbows on the table, and 
 leaning across it towards her, until their faces were 
 not more than three feet apart. 
 
 "Now you'll feel better," he assured her. "I had 
 to be rather rough with you, for you were losing all 
 self-control. Don't try to speak for a minute of two. 
 I want you to understand the position. You are 
 here with me ; there is no one else within call, except 
 those who take their orders from me ; it entirely de- 
 pends upon me whether you go or stay. There are 
 things you must, in any case, be told ; and I haven't 
 time for argument or childish temper. When I have 
 finished — I shan't take long — you can say anything 
 you have to say. Till then," he rapped the table 
 lightly with his knuckles, "you will kindly be quiet." 
 
 There were tears on the girl's frightened face, but 
 she only looked back at him in a spell-bound apathy. 
 Once or twice, during what followed, her lips moved 
 dumbly ; once she even stretched a hand half-heartedly
 
 202 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 towards him, as if in petition; but she made no 
 sound, nor altered her attitude of exhausted semi- 
 consciousness, for some minutes. 
 
 "You have," he reminded her, "definitely refused, 
 more than once, to come hack to the chapel with me. 
 That is to say, of course, that you refuse to come of 
 your own free will. I needn't point out to you that 
 it would be perfectly easy to compel your attendance. 
 But that is not to be thought of ; you must go through 
 your initiation willingly, or of what value would it 
 be, either to yourself or to us? I say you must, 
 Shirley ; you shall ; yes, and you will when you know 
 the reason why I take all this trouble about you. 
 Perhaps I should have spoken before. It must have 
 made things easier. But I did not realise that it 
 was necessary. I thought that you were quite pre- 
 pared to join us, and that the extraordinary distinc- 
 tion for which I had reserved you had better not be 
 disclosed until you were more advanced. But, in the 
 face of your present incomprehensible obstinacy, I 
 have altered my view. I must tell you now, and it 
 seems strange that words should be necessary. 
 Haven't you guessed yet ? Haven't you seen that I 
 want you, that you are to be my woman, my equal in 
 knowledge and power — mine for ever ?" 
 
 He sat erect in his chair, his face afire, with an 
 air of incredible and arrogant majesty. So might 
 some great king look, some Boman emperor whose 
 brain had sickened in the consideration of his ab-
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 203 
 
 solute power over millions ; who had already declared 
 his own apotheosis. 
 
 "You know who I am ? You would say that you 
 did. You would describe me as Sir Edward Talbot, 
 a rich man; one who has made a fortune, probably 
 in commerce, and bought himself a knighthood; a 
 fairly well-known person in London society, and the 
 owner of a country house; sufficiently popular, suf- 
 ficiently amusing, with more ideas than are to be 
 expected from a successful financier. Is that it?" 
 
 Leaning regally back in his chair, he laughed 
 aloud. 
 
 "What right, you ask then, have I to suppose that 
 the possession of a fortune and a few occult fads 
 gives me any chance, in middle life and with no great 
 claim to physical distinction, of attracting a young 
 and beautiful woman, who is herself quite reasonably 
 well off? Well, I'll tell you; and you shall see if 
 my presumption is as intolerable as you imagine." 
 
 Breaking off, he seemed to look for a suitable open- 
 ing to his explanation ; the girl, meanwhile, offering 
 him no help, but contemplating him with the same 
 dazed air. 
 
 "At one of our early meetings, Shirley," he said 
 at last, "possibly at the first, you asked me which had 
 been my college at Oxford ; and, when I hesitated in 
 answering, you put me down in your mind as a vul- 
 gar liar. That was natural on your part, but a mis- 
 take. I had truly been to Worcester ; but in my day
 
 204. THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 it was known as Gloucester Hall, and it has since 
 been not only renamed but rebuilt, from which you 
 will gather that I matriculated some time ago. You 
 were right. It was, to be exact, in the year fifteen 
 hundred and seventy one, and I was sixteen at the 
 time. Fellows went up earlier then than now." 
 
 Once more he stopped speaking, and looked at 
 Shirley with a smiling sternness. Momentarily she 
 remained unmoved, as if the words had hardly 
 reached her. Then, in an instant, her eyes grew 
 great and dark, and she shrank away from the table, 
 her hands gripping the edge of it, and her body 
 pressed against the back of her chair. 
 
 "You see ?" he said. "I'm not altogether so com- 
 monplace a creature as you supposed. Perhaps you 
 may think me worthy of a little more respect than 
 you have so far given me. My fame is not small; 
 it may even have reached your ears — and yet I don't 
 know; you seem, for a girl of intelligence, to be 
 profoundly ignorant. . . . Well, I did not call my- 
 self Talbot at Oxford. That was my mother's 
 maiden name which I have assumed from time to 
 time for adequate reasons. But at the university, 
 and in the history of human wisdom, I am known as 
 Edward Kelley." 
 
 The name, flung out with indescribable pride, ef- 
 fected no change in the expression and attitude of 
 his hearer. Terror was the only emotion to be traced
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 205 
 
 on her features, and the clenched hands on the table 
 shook. 
 
 "Even at sixteen my feet were set on the right 
 path. I saw — vaguely enough then, it is true — but 
 I saw a glimmer of light; and the passion for full 
 illumination tore me. In my boyhood I had been 
 trained as an apothecary ; and, paltry as my instruc- 
 tion had been, it had been sufficient to give me a taste 
 for that chemical research which was the basis of all 
 my subsequent discoveries. In such things I shewed 
 an extraordinary precocity which might have been 
 expected to gain me general admiration and respect; 
 but the truly wise have the world against them. 
 You will find that yourself, and you will laugh at it, 
 as I did and do. The ignoramuses who were by 
 way of being my teachers were sharp enough to de- 
 tect the trend of my studies ; and they made an ex- 
 cuse of certain boyish dissipations to get rid of one 
 whom they feared as their master. I was sent away 
 from a college that detested me to my home in the 
 town of Worcester, where I was little better liked. 
 My mother was dead; my brother and sister — a 
 couple of fools — despised me, as they despised all 
 students. My father's one idea had always been to 
 make me self-supporting and see the last of me. In- 
 formed by my tutors that I was useless for the career 
 for which he had designed me, he insisted on my tak- 
 ing up his own profession — that of the law — and
 
 206 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 earning a shady living as a country attorney. I did 
 not care. The pretence of this mean trade was a 
 good enough cloak to hide my true and secret activ- 
 ities. But in my youth I was a poor hand at dis- 
 simulation. What had happened at Oxford, hap- 
 pened again, nine years later, at Lancaster, whither 
 I had removed from Worcester with a newly married 
 wife. The hatred of the stupid was inflamed; and, 
 as they could bring no real charge against me, they 
 were obliged to invent a ridiculous story of forgery. 
 The dull and cruel justice, before whom they hauled 
 me, was filled with the same instinctive, unreasoning 
 loathing of a personality immeasurably superior to 
 his own. I am sure he weighed in his mind the pos- 
 sibility of sending me to the gallows ; but hardly dar- 
 ing to go so far, he wreaked as brutal a vengeance on 
 me as he thought he safely might. My ears were 
 cropped, and I was whipped out of the town, a beg- 
 gar and a felon." 
 
 The hatred of the mob was evidently not even yet 
 as ridiculous to Sir Edward as he had asserted ; for 
 at this point he rose and began to pace the room, his 
 brow bent and his eyes glittering. 
 
 "The devils nearly succeeded in their object. It 
 was touch and go whether I starved or not. I had no 
 books, money or instruments; the mutilation which 
 they'd inflicted on me (you can see the marks of it 
 still) prevented me getting any but the meanest work. 
 Despair had nearly conquered me ; but I resolved to
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 207 
 
 risk one more throw against fate. London, or rather, 
 Mortlake, was my goal — the home of the only man 
 whom I knew to be likely to appreciate my genius — 
 and I started off on foot I had to steal, more than 
 once, to keep life in me on the road — turnips and car- 
 rots and eggs, which I ate raw under the hedge-rows 
 where I slept My feet were in rags, my hair and 
 beard long and matted, and my torn clothes encrusted 
 with mud, but I reached the place at last, and walked 
 straight into Dee's house. 'This is what I have 
 learnt and discovered and guessed at. Such and 
 such natural gifts I have,' I told him. 'Will you 
 take me as an assistant?' Scarecrow as I was, he 
 never hesitated; and for six years we were insep- 
 arable." 
 
 Sir Edward sank once more into his chair; and, 
 tilting his head upwards against its high back, medi- 
 tated. Shirley was watching him with undiminished 
 fear, but with a livelier attention. Her face was less 
 pale, her attitude more rigid. 
 
 "Dee was a man of immense learning, tireless in- 
 dustry but only moderate intuition ; while in worldly 
 affairs he was one of the stupidest of people — sus- 
 picious, futile, credulous and weakly ill-tempered. 
 If you have never heard my name before, Shirley, I 
 am sure that of Doctor Dee must be familiar to you. 
 I understand that he appears in illustrated books for 
 the young, which probably figure largely in your li- 
 brary. Some day I must amuse myself by seeing
 
 208 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 what they have made of him. . . . He really seemed 
 to be a treasury of all human knowledge, but he him- 
 self had added nothing of much importance to the 
 store. That was his dream, the realisation of which 
 he saw to be possible through my vastly greater 
 powers. He was rich enough to indulge his fancies 
 and, for a time, to keep me in a secondary position ; 
 moreover, I believe he had a personal liking for me, 
 at first. Joan, my wife, was summoned from the 
 cottage near the Coniston Old Man, where she had 
 taken refuge, to set up house with myself, Dee and 
 the girl whom he had lately married. I say nothing 
 against Joan Kelley, who was a good and personable 
 creature enough ; but Jane Dee was the first, and al- 
 most the last, woman I ever met who seemed to me 
 to be worthy of being the mate of a philosopher. 
 What her origin was I don't know ; she was not more 
 than half his age, if as much ; but she over-topped his 
 dusty bookishness as loftily, almost, as I myself did. 
 She had all the gifts, corporeal and incorporeal; if 
 I had had time, I could have taught her everything; 
 everything that I shall teach you, Shirley. We be- 
 came lovers, of course. That was inevitable; for I 
 was only twenty-seven then, and hardly less a poet 
 than a scientist and mystic. Dee knew of it, and ex- 
 pressed no sort of protest, beyond, I fancy, making 
 retaliatory advances to my wife, whether with suc- 
 cess or otherwise I was not sufficiently interested to 
 enquire. The fact is that we two men were far too
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 209 
 
 deeply occupied with our joint researches to quarrel 
 about the ownership of a woman or so. I had be- 
 come his skryer — or speculator, as he preferred to 
 call it; that is to say that it was I who peered into 
 the immaterial world, and brought my glimpses and 
 experiences back to him, to be examined and classi- 
 fied in the light of his prodigious erudition. I know 
 that, after we had quarrelled and parted, he accused 
 me of robbing him of his wife's love by a pretended 
 spirit revelation, seen in the crystal ball, that we 
 were to hold our women in common — a perfectly 
 false and ludicrous statement, invented in sheer 
 senile jealousy and spite. As if the unseen forces 
 of the universe would be likely to be brought into 
 action over such trivialities! Nevertheless his as- 
 sumed disapproval of my profligacies gave him a 
 means of parting me from Jane. She who might 
 have been by my side at this moment, as young and 
 no less beautiful than yourself, has long ago rotted 
 away in the grave. That shall not be your fate." 
 
 Momentarily the pride had gone out of his voice 
 and posture ; and, resting his cheek on his hand, he 
 had fallen into a tone of quiet reminiscence; but 
 when he once more took up his tale, the old vain- 
 gloriousness returned rapidly. 
 
 "Yet God knows he ought to have been forbearing 
 with me ! All his claims to immortality rest on my 
 labours ; indeed, the instructed, nowadays, have trans- 
 ferred the unmerited adulation of the old man to my-
 
 210 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 self. It was I who suggested, urged, finally insisted 
 upon that excursion into the West Country which 
 had so marvellous an ending, It was my power of 
 divination which took us, after protracted wanderings 
 — during which, by the way, I became possessed of 
 that term of Silvanus which you saw at Overbourne 
 ... it was by my advice that we came to Glaston- 
 bury. Had I done no more than take him there, he 
 should have been eternally grateful ; but that was not 
 all. If I hadn't been with him, he would undoubt- 
 edly have gone away as empty-handed as he arrived. 
 Not he, but I, found the rifled tomb in the abbey ; I 
 traced the thick-headed inn-keeper, who little guessed 
 what he had pilfered, you may be sure ; I grudgingly 
 bargained over shillings with him, for the sale of the 
 'curiosities' ; and it was I who broke in on Dee, late 
 at night and crazed with joy, to share with him the 
 lost secret of the philosophers. Why should I have 
 so favoured him? It is true that he was more ad- 
 vanced in the practice of certain occult arts than I 
 was. His wealth, for instance, was in a very small 
 degree the result of his earnings by casting horo- 
 scopes and what not ; it would, in his case, be literally 
 accurate to say that he made nearly all his money 
 himself. Alchemy had not been a special study of 
 mine ; but I could have learned — indeed I did after- 
 wards learn. It was not, therefore, mere policy 
 which led me to take Dee into my confidence. I can- 
 not say that it was pure affection for himself, either ;
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 211 
 
 I am not affectionate, nor was he one to inspire very 
 warm feelings. But I loved his wife ; and she, with 
 a woman's inconsistency, was a good deal concerned 
 about the welfare of the husband whom she had, as 
 the phrase goes, betrayed. For my own part, too, I 
 saw that it was inadvisable to break up, at that time, 
 an association which was convenient to me. Until 
 I acquired the power of using my new wisdom fully, 
 I should be but badly off ; and Jane, in following my 
 separate fortunes, would have to endure a sordid be- 
 ginning to our dual life. This I could not contem- 
 plate; she was made for luxury, physical idleness, 
 dreams and beauty. Dee's long experimental train- 
 ing was useful to me, besides. And how we laboured, 
 Shirley! What pangs of bitterness and fury, what 
 deliria of triumph our midnight lamp has illumin- 
 ated ! What wasted cheeks and pale eyes have 
 greeted the daylight! Before the rupture came I 
 had picked the old man's brains pretty clean, with- 
 out giving up too much of myself in return. Con- 
 ceive that he could allow so contemptible a passion 
 as jealousy to divide us in our amazing adventure! 
 Yet he did so ; and when I parted from him, in fif- 
 teen hundred and eighty-eight, I was not even per- 
 mitted to say a word of farewell to the girl who had 
 so often lain in my arms. Some pretence of a for- 
 giving generosity he hypocritically maintained, even 
 then; his written discharge was in my hand, and a 
 speculator's mirror, a book and some other trifles
 
 212 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 which he had given me were in my scrip. But It 
 was hidden in my clothing, and I had put seven hun- 
 dred miles, or so, of land and sea between us, 
 before he discovered his loss. It was mine — I had 
 found it; I had paid a guinea for it, no less! But 
 I was aware that he regarded it as his, in return for 
 his interested hospitality, and a few gifts of money 
 which had cost him nothing. He would never have 
 parted from it without a struggle to the death ; and 
 he knew enough about my past persecution, and had 
 himself sufficient influence with the great, to have 
 me thrown into prison. It seemed to me advisable, 
 therefore, to recover my property by stealth, leaving 
 Dee my wife in consolatory exchange. Will you be- 
 lieve that he afterwards put it about the town that 
 he had made me a present of it? By this account, 
 he had condemned himself to the common lot of mor- 
 tals, and parted with incalculable powers, by giving 
 up the key of all knowledge, before he had learnt to 
 employ it, as a parting present to an unfaithful ap- 
 prentice who had seduced his wife. It shews the 
 unfathomable idiocy of mankind that this feeble lie 
 was actually accepted as a fact. . . . You're listen- 
 ing V 
 
 The sudden, fierce suspicion with which he shot 
 the question at Shirley made her start and gasp ; but 
 she nodded submissively. The tensity of her atti- 
 tude suggested that she was ready to spring up at any 
 moment and fly from some instant peril. Sir Ed-
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 213 
 
 ward seemed to remark this, and smiled with an im- 
 perial indulgence. 
 
 "Probably you are a little alarmed — and cer- 
 tainly you must be greatly surprised — at being thus 
 chosen from among all the women of the world and of 
 the last three centuries; at triumphing over all the 
 beauties and geniuses and great ladies with whom 
 you rightly believe that I have been brought in con- 
 tact. You, with your diffident ignorance, and your 
 little dressmaking talent, and your gentle English 
 prettiness ! I cannot explain it now ; it would take 
 more time than I — and more perception than you, 
 in your present stage of development — have got. 
 But I hnow you are what I have been seeking; just 
 as I knew Jane Dee to be, so many years ago. If 
 you recoil, naturally enough, from the first glimpse 
 of this tremendous future, you will soon grow ac- 
 customed to the idea. You pray, or have prayed, in 
 your tasteless Protestant churches, for immortality, 
 you know; and a very insipid form of it, at that. 
 To be deathless and immune from the scourgings of 
 humanity, in a world of which you must already have 
 guessed the unending possibilities, is surely a more 
 inviting prospect than the eternal kow-towing and 
 strumming on harps which is all your spiritual 
 teachers had to offer you. That victory over death I 
 give you; at least," he hesitated slightly, "over what 
 they call natural death ; and what percentage of the 
 population of civilised countries comes to a violent
 
 214 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 end? A negligibly small one, made up almost 
 wholly of those who are driven by folly or poverty 
 into dangerous trades. Disease and old age account 
 for nearly all of us; two enemies whom you and I 
 shall never meet. We are our own law, our own 
 moral code. Want cannot, touch us ; whatever money 
 can give us is ours. ... In this last respect Dee was 
 my equal; but the final, the grand secret he never 
 knew. It was not until I had been parted from him 
 for over three years that my labours were rewarded 
 with complete success. Look at me, Shirley! I 
 was thirty-six years old then. Three hundred and 
 thirty-eight years — is it? — have passed, races, coun- 
 tries and dynasties have vanished, the very face of 
 the heavens has changed, and you may say that I am 
 thirty-six still. I look more, I know. We matured 
 sooner, in those days; and think, too, of my exer- 
 tions and privations! But I swear to you that I 
 have not lost a hair, or added a wrinkle, since that 
 night when, in my great dusky room in Prague, I 
 put the cup to my lips." 
 
 A strange glaze had been creeping over the girl's 
 eyes during the latter part of his speech. ISTow and 
 again she put back her shoulders resolutely, raised 
 a hand to her forehead, or drew a long breath, as 
 people will when faintness comes over them in some 
 public place. In spite of the growing chill of the 
 room as the fire died, her cheeks were brightly 
 flushed; and this, combined with her clouded and
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 215 
 
 confused gaze, gave her something of the air of one 
 in an early stage of drunkenness. Her hands had 
 grown restless, but her lips were still silent. 
 
 "As I had flown from my tormentors in Lancaster 
 to Dee," Sir Edward went on, "so I fled from the in- 
 tolerable pettiness of Dee to the Emperor. Ample 
 means, undisturbed privacy, the use of great libraries 
 and laboratories, and complete freedom from care 
 and responsibility were essential, if my work was to 
 succeed. As a philosopher, I naturally knew Ru- 
 dolf by reputation. With all his faults, he was one 
 of the few great monarchs of history. He had an in- 
 satiable lust for knowledge; and he received me with 
 the welcome that befitted me. Little as his despic- 
 able court sycophants relished the favour that he 
 bestowed on me, they were compelled to conceal their 
 jealousy and to provide me with the surroundings 
 that I asked — such gifts as none but a very great 
 noble or king could have bestowed. In the history 
 of wisdom, Rudolf deserves a high place for this 
 alone. But he was a difficult creature; violent in 
 temper (a fault of which he never tired of accusing 
 me) overbearing, easily swayed at the same time, and 
 furiously impatient. Because I was a great phil- 
 osopher, the greatest then or since, therefore I must 
 be able to explain every secret of nature to him. A 
 contemporary of mine (of whom I know you have 
 heard) a little, ribald actor who was oddly enough a 
 matchless poet and had met and, in his purely in-
 
 216 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 stinctive way, sounded the depths of most of the 
 great thinkers of that incomparably wise age, had 
 said, truly and tritely enough, in one of his plays 
 that there were more things in earth and heaven than 
 were dreamt of in Philosophy. The sneer at philoso- 
 phy is negligible. It is so ; it must always be so ; and 
 Rudolf resented this. Moreover, the astounding, un- 
 rivalled powers which I had acquired were little in- 
 teresting to him unless employed for his glory and 
 satisfaction. He guessed, accurately, that I was keep- 
 ing much from him ; he condescended to the slander of 
 the back-stairs ; and I, whom he had not only enriched 
 but ennobled, was thrown, without explanation, into 
 jail. You may believe that I did not endure this 
 humiliation for long. One morning the doors were 
 found open, the warder dead; and I presented my- 
 self unexpectedly before the throne. Rudolf saw 
 that he had misjudged my courage no less than my 
 power ; and for a while I was higher in favour than 
 ever. Then his madness returned. Flattery had 
 made him rank himself among the gods ; past doubt, 
 his mind was actually unhinged. In an unguarded 
 moment I reminded him of my superiority to a royal 
 amateur; and in a fury of outraged pride he loaded 
 me again with chains. This time I felt that I had 
 indulged the megalomaniac too long. He had served 
 my purpose well ; I needed him no more. Towards 
 the end of fifteen ninety-five, after a short pretence 
 of accepting my fate, I broke prison again, and left
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 217 
 
 ,Bohemia. Judge of his anger when he heard of his 
 defeat and his irremediable loss! He sedulously 
 spread the report that I had broken my neck in an 
 attempt to let myself down from the walls of my dun- 
 geon — his vanity was as small-minded as that. The 
 lie has passed into history, and little does it affect my 
 happiness. Sir Edward Kelley can afford to smile 
 today over the mortified conceit of a forgotten ruler, 
 who took his vaunted divinity to the tomb centuries 
 ago. Who knows or cares anything about the Em- 
 pereor Rudolf the Second nowadays ?" 
 
 As he asked the question, his glance once more 
 sought the blindly unresponsive face of Shirley ; and 
 suddenly catching her hands in his he shook them in 
 a sort of angry disappointment. 
 
 "Don't you appreciate it yet?" he cried. "Don't 
 you see the wonder of your position — that an honour 
 has been paid you such as no woman has ever before 
 received in the history of the race ? Answer ! You 
 and I are alone — the unique man, the unique woman 
 — set high above the heads of all the living and the 
 dead. Not even my followers, who are waiting be- 
 low for your return, have an inkling of your destiny. 
 They suppose you to be an ordinary novice, as each 
 of them has been in the past; greatly privileged in- 
 deed by my choice, for most of them had to beg for 
 admission. But that I should lift you up in one mo- 
 ment from the dead level of mankind to my own al- 
 titude . . . such an idea would be almost inconceiv-
 
 218 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 able to them. Shirley, in half an hour, or less, your 
 initiatory rites will be over. . . ." 
 
 "What was that you gave me to drink ?" said the 
 girl unexpectedly, in a loud, unsteady voice. Her 
 face was scarlet, and her eyelids constantly closed 
 and reopened heavily. "I thought it was water . . . 
 What was it ? I feel so ill." 
 
 "That will soon pass off," he said calmly, smiling 
 on her with open significance. "You may endure it 
 gladly. It is the last illness or discomfort that you 
 will ever have to suffer." 
 
 Before he had said the words, she had sprung to 
 her feet, swayed for a moment, with closed eyes, and 
 then, pulling herself together, reached the window 
 and thrown up the bottom sash. 
 
 "I'm going to faint," she said feebly. "Then 
 there was something . . . ? I'm going to faint." 
 
 Leaning both hands on the ledge, she drew deep 
 breaths of the icy air, looking, in fact, as if she might 
 at any instant fall to the ground. Sir Edward 
 pushed up one of the chairs from the table to her side, 
 and she sank into it, with her forehead in her two 
 hands. 
 
 "I think not," he quietly assured her, as he stood 
 over her, regarding her with the same expression of 
 triumphant expectancy. "There! Rest here a lit- 
 tle, and think over what I've said. The cold doesn't 
 matter. Nothing can hurt you now. In five min-
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 219 
 
 utes I will come back for you. Everything must be 
 ready by this time." 
 
 "I won't come with you; I'd rather die," mur- 
 mured Shirley with a hopeless obstinacy, her face 
 still concealed in her hands. 
 
 "You will do what you're told," Sir Edward coldly 
 insisted. "How can you imagine that, after letting 
 you into the secrets of my life, I should allow you to 
 throw us all over, and take a cowardly refuge with 
 your scandalising middle-class friends? You have 
 gone too far to retreat. Make up your mind to that." 
 
 "Oh, I take my oath I won't say a word," she 
 sobbed incoherently. "Sir Edward, you used to be 
 so nice . . . don't be so horribly cruel. . . ." 
 
 "Are you mad?" he asked angrily. "What's the 
 matter ? What are you crying about ? What do you 
 imagine is going to be done to you ?" 
 
 "I don't know," she whispered, raising her vague, 
 suffused eyes to his implacable face. "Something 
 dreadful. . . . Mr. Burrell told me of ghastly things 
 that happened in London . . . somewhere near Hol- 
 born. He said you did them. I didn't believe him, 
 of course ... it was years and years ago. But it 
 was the same sort. . . ." 
 
 "Oh ?" Sir Edward interrupted her with an inter- 
 rogative inflexion; and seemed to ruminate. "So 
 Gathorne goes as far as that, does he? H'm! He 
 must be pacified. . . . Well, he spoke the truth, to
 
 220 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 this extent only ; I was concerned in the affair. After 
 what you've heard from me, you'll understand that 
 thirty years or so makes no more physical difference 
 to me than thirty minutes. So that's what's been 
 frightening you, you silly girl, is it? Surely you 
 can't believe that you would be compelled to go 
 through any such tests as Clara — the young woman 
 of whom you heard — underwent, entirely, I may tell 
 you, of her own choice. You will find, as you learn 
 more, that initiates, while in the lower grades, some- 
 times desire to subject themselves to certain mortifi- 
 cations, which react beneficially on the — spirit, shall 
 we say ? — and enable them to reach a higher position 
 more readily than they otherwise might. You must 
 have heard of similar practices in the Christian 
 church. Clara attempted too much for her strength 
 — her heart, I gather, was weak. Some busy- 
 body interrupted us before we could recover her ; and 
 she paid the penalty which many pay in the search 
 for knowledge. But can you suppose that I should 
 wish, or even permit your body — your little white 
 body — to be broken by such rigorous discipline? 
 Why should it be useful, even if I gave my consent 
 to it ? The road is to be no painful one to you. You 
 only, since time began, will gain the rewards with- 
 out undergoing the toil and pain. Through me, you 
 are spared all that. The initiation is a mere form, 
 but an essential form. . . . Come, I mustn't waste
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 221 
 
 any more time. When I have seen that everything 
 is in order, I will fetch you." 
 
 He turned towards the archway, paused, and added 
 over his shoulder, in a passionless tone of warning: 
 
 "For your own sake, Shirley, I strongly advise you 
 to be obedient and reasonable." 
 
 She had dropped her head against the window 
 frame, her eyes half shut, her breath coming and go- 
 ing with difficulty; and she appeared, although still 
 conscious, incapable of further struggle or protest. 
 As he turned his parting glance on the helpless form, 
 Sir Edward drew himself up, and, as once or twice 
 before during the story, seemed actually to swell in 
 stature in a gloomy transfiguration of mastery. 
 Then silently he passed through the low arch and was 
 gone. 
 
 It was some minutes before Shirley, wearily roll- 
 ing her head sideways against the window frame, 
 turned a heavy gaze on the spot where she had last 
 seen him stand. Terror sprang into her dull eyes 
 momentarily, as she found herself alone ; and clutch- 
 ing and pawing at the walls, she contrived to regain 
 her feet and get as far as the corridor door, which 
 for the last time she shook feebly. In the same 
 mechanical way she staggered to the table, and con- 
 templated it blankly for some seconds. The glass 
 from which she had drunk still contained a little 
 liquid, and with a sudden movement she put it to
 
 222 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 her lips and drained it. She had hardly done so 
 before a returning intelligence began to awake in her 
 face. Gradually the lividness of her pallor became 
 less intense. Her eyes opened widely, and filled with 
 an unnatural glitter. Biting her lip, she stared shiv- 
 eringly on the head of the chapel stairs, before, with 
 a rapid, crouching run, reaching it and bending her 
 ear towards the darkness. Far below, the faint sound 
 of bare feet on stone flags could be distinguished in 
 the silence. Shirley, catching her fur cloak tightly 
 about her, gazed around in desperation. The long 
 blue veils still lay in the chair upon which Sir Ed- 
 ward had been sitting; and, picking them up, she 
 knotted them together with frantic haste and fled to 
 the open window. Then, as if she could find no way 
 of employing them, she threw them from her, and 
 listened again. The shuffling noise of the quiet feet 
 approached nearer and nearer. A moment more she 
 hesitated, searching the outer darkness with distracted 
 eyes; and then with an unnatural activity she had 
 scrambled onto the window-sill and, without a pause, 
 thrown herself among the bare branches of the tree 
 that grew close beside the house. Her body missed 
 the great bough and fell among the tangle of twigs 
 and lesser limbs which broke beneath her weight. A 
 scream of terror rang out of the blackness of the 
 night, as Sir Edward Talbot appeared once more in 
 the doorway and shot a lightning glance about the 
 empty room.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 TELEPHONICALLY summoned with a mys- 
 terious instancy, Joyce Cassilis rang at the 
 door of the Wigmore Street flat at half-past five 
 o'clock on the Sunday afternoon, and was at once 
 admitted into the glowing little drawing-room, where 
 its owner awaited her. 
 
 Shirley, although dressed in a most covetable gar- 
 ment of the palest pink satin, trimmed with dull 
 gold lace, her bare arms veiled with a cloud of rosy 
 net, was yet a lamentable spectacle. She could 
 scarcely limp across the room to greet her visitor; 
 there was a dark bruise on her temple, a long angry 
 scratch from eye to chin on one side of her face, her 
 under lip was cut, and her left hand was covered 
 with bandages. In her pretty tea-gown, with her 
 cunningly dressed hair, she presented something of 
 the appearance of one of those seasoned wax figures 
 which may be seen in the windows of the lesser dress- 
 makers, displaying the latest "Paris models" and 
 languidly admiring the maimed hands which they 
 stretched out before them in Unintelligible gestures. 
 
 "Good Lord!" cried Joyce, visibly recoiling from 
 
 this war-stained apparition. "What have you been 
 
 up to ?" 
 
 223
 
 224 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 Shirley smiled feebly, shook her head, sank on the 
 divan, cried a little, dried her eyes with three square 
 inches of gaudy cobweb, and smiled again. 
 
 "I'm all right," she said. 
 
 "Well, so long as you're satisfied," answered 
 Joyce, in a resigned ellipsis, as she turned away, 
 blushing, to lay aside her long coat of grey squirrel's 
 fur. As she openly confessed, she despised tears, 
 and people in trouble only embarrassed her. 
 
 "I'm sorry I look such a sight," the culprit apolo- 
 gized. "Have you had tea ?" 
 
 "Two, thanks; but one of your heavy, opium- 
 tainted cigarettes might steady my nerves. What are 
 these ? The old 'Three Castles' ? Oh, 'Harlequins !' 
 I love them ; they've got such a topping scent, haven't 
 they ? And the picture on the box is nice, too. . . . 
 Tell me about the dog-fight — or were you chucked 
 out of a taxi ?" 
 
 Her friend hesitated, and delicately sniffed ; but it 
 proved a false alarm, for no tears followed. Pres- 
 ently she spoke rather shamefacedly. 
 
 "It's such an extraordinary story. I don't sup- 
 pose you'll believe a word of it ; and yet you did warn 
 me against that man, several times, didn't you ?" 
 
 "What ? Wlio ?" cried Joyce loudly, her blue eyes 
 leaping into indignant flame. "Do you mean Ed- 
 ward Talbot ? Shirley ! He hasn't dared to knock 
 you about like ..." 
 
 "No, oh no !" the other hurriedly interrupted, to
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 225 
 
 arrest her friend's gathering fury. "I've been down 
 at his place — where you went, you know. I don't 
 know how I ever got back alive. But he didn't give 
 me these bruises. I got those . . . well, I'll tell 
 you." 
 
 And amid the pestilential effluvium that arose from 
 Joyce's cigarette she began, falteringly and with 
 many corrections and redundancies, to tell her tale. 
 Before long, however, she warmed to her work, and 
 words flowed more easily; while Joyce, for once 
 hushed into mute amazement, sat staring on her from 
 the other end of the divan. 
 
 "I didn't realise for some time after I'd drunk the 
 water that he'd put anything in it. It left rather a 
 funny taste in my mouth, but I thought that was only 
 fancy. And then I began to have the most peculiar 
 feeling. I don't know how to describe it. I wasn't 
 exactly sleepy or stupid ; because I heard every word 
 he said, and understood him perfectly. But all my 
 strength seemed to be going — my will, I mean. I 
 knew I mustn't give way to it, and I did try and pull 
 myself together. But I found myself wondering, 
 every few minutes, whether it was worth making a 
 fuss ; whether it wouldn't save trouble to do what I 
 was told." 
 
 "Shirley!" 
 
 "I know. . . . And, of course, the next second I 
 was horrified at having even thought of such a thing, 
 and more determined than ever to kill myself rather
 
 226 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 than give in. But I had a ghastly certainty that I 
 couldn't hold on much longer, and that this stuff, 
 whatever it was, would get the better of me at last ; 
 and that he knew it, and that was why he'd given it 
 to me. Did I tell you that I taxed him with putting 
 something in the water, and he didn't deny it? 
 What could it have been ?" 
 
 "Some sort of dope," Joyce guessed, trying to in- 
 hale her smoke, and becoming momentarily black in 
 the face. "I was pretty sure he doped. All that lot 
 do, and they look pink and soft and sleepy and gen- 
 erally filthy. Haven't you noticed Magdalen some- 
 times, and that revolting Gathorne ? Only he goes 
 flabby white, like a sweetbread, instead of pink. 
 Ugh ! . . . Shirley, you might have fainted, and 
 then what would have happened ! Go on, do ! How 
 did you get away ?" 
 
 "Do you know what 2" think it was? Or at any 
 rate what he thought it was? That stuff that he'd 
 taken himself, to make himself live for ever," Shirlev 
 murmured, with wide eyes of mystery. "Because 
 he said such a funny thing about it, when I told him 
 it had made me feel ill. He said : 'You'll soon feel 
 all right again ; and then you'll never be ill any more, 
 as long as you live.' And afterwards he said: 'It 
 doesn't matter having the window open; you can't 
 catch any more cold now.' Don't you think that was 
 it? You see he practically told me he was going to
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 227 
 
 give it me sometime — after I'd been initiated, I ima- 
 gined." 
 
 "It doesn't matter much what he thought it was ; 
 though I'm quite sure he never thought anything of 
 the kind," argued the younger girl. "Get on ! I 
 want to hear how you escaped from the loathsome old 
 devil." 
 
 "Well, I knew I shouldn't have any chance in a 
 struggle with him ; and besides he had such a lot of 
 people waiting to help — that dreadful black, and the 
 footman, and probably those friends of his downstairs 
 — these horrible creatures whose voices I heard. So 
 I said I felt faint, and went and sat by the open win- 
 dow ; and I thought : 'If he lays a hand on me, or 
 the time comes when I can't bear it any more, I'll 
 throw myself out, and then I shall either be killed, 
 or get away.' " 
 
 "You might only have broken your legs, or some- 
 thing." 
 
 "I thought of that; but then they couldn't have 
 gone on with the initiation, or whatever it was, if I 
 had broken legs, could they ?" 
 
 "Goodness knows ! 'Initiation' may be only a way 
 of saying that they meant to make you into a pie. 
 Never mind that, though ; get on !" 
 
 "I wonder he didn't guess ; but I did my best not 
 to seem too frightened, so he probably didn't dream 
 how absolutely desperate I was, or he wouldn't have
 
 228 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 left me alone for an instant. Anyhow, he went away 
 to the chapel, saying he was coming back for me in a 
 minute or two. I was determined he shouldn't find 
 me there when he did ; but by this time I was feeling 
 so horribly ill that I doubted if I'd be strong enough 
 even to climb out of the window. Then I remem- 
 bered the stuff he'd given me to drink. It had 
 bucked me up most tremendously just for a minute 
 or two after I'd taken it, and perhaps it might have 
 the same effect again, for long enough to let me get 
 clear of the house. There was nothing left in the 
 bottle; evidently he'd only mixed the amount he 
 wanted, and put it into a bedroom bottle so that I 
 should think he'd brought in the first water he could 
 find. But there was still a little drop at the bottom 
 of the glass; and, sure enough, as soon as I'd swal- 
 lowed it, I felt all my beastly qualms pass off, and 
 I wasn't dizzy or drowsy or cold or feeble ; only ter- 
 rified to death and furiously angry. . . . And then, 
 Joyce, I heard him coming back." 
 
 She paused, partly for dramatic effect, perhaps, 
 but largely to give an obviously genuine shudder. 
 Joyce's eyes were intent. 
 
 "Bare feet slapping ever so gently on the stone 
 steps. . . . Then I went quite mad. I can't think 
 how I ever dared to do it, but I got on the window- 
 sill, and jumped at a big branch that was near me. 
 Oh, Joyce ! When I knew I'd missed it ! I didn't 
 utter a sound ; I just fell and fell and fell — miles, it
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 229 
 
 seemed, bouncing off things, and breaking through 
 great tangles of stuff, till I came up against a bough 
 that was thick enough to stop me for a second. It 
 bruised me like anything, but I didn't feel it till 
 to-day ; and then it broke too, and I fell into a lot of 
 leaves and mould at the foot of the tree. If it hadn't 
 luckily been soft, or if I'd had a clear drop, instead 
 of cannoning off branches all the way down, I should 
 have been killed, or crippled at least. Even as it 
 was, I believe my coat saved me from being badly 
 hurt. It's very thick — double lined — and long, and 
 I'd wrapped it round me tightly before I jumped. 
 And it was simply in rags. However I wasn't very 
 much the worse, although the breath was all knocked 
 out of me, naturally ; and there I lay for a bit, staring 
 up through the boughs at the sky, or where the sky 
 ought to have been — I could only see a foot or two 
 above my face. Very likely I should have stayed 
 there in a stupid sort of dream, and been caught and 
 taken back, if he hadn't looked out of the window, 
 to see if he could spot me, I suppose. He was hold- 
 ing that little lamp high above his head, and I could 
 just make out his face, and one look at that was quite 
 enough. I scrambled onto my hands and knees, as 
 soon as he pulled in his head, and crawled off through 
 the bushes, as quickly and quietly as I could. You 
 see, he must have known I'd gone out of the window ; 
 there wasn't any other way; and he'd be perfectly 
 certain to have the place searched, if only to find out
 
 230 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 whether I was dead or alive; so all I could hope to 
 do was to get onto the road, where I might meet some- 
 body — even a tramp would have been lovely to see 
 then, though I hate them as a rule, don't you ? Or, 
 if I didn't find anyone, I'd walk till I couldn't go 
 any further, and then sleep in a barn, or under a 
 hedge, or somewhere. But I never made any real 
 plan ; just to get away from that man was all I cared 
 about, particularly as I knew the effect of the stuff 
 I'd drunk was wearing off again already, and leav- 
 ing me sicker and drowsier than ever. I began to 
 be afraid that I should only be able to move at all 
 for a few more minutes ; so I must make the most of 
 them, and get as far as possible from this awful house 
 in the time. So after crawling about twenty yards, 
 I got up and ran. The first thing I did was to plunge 
 bang into a hollybush — at least, it felt like holly, 
 but you couldn't see an inch among all those shrubs 
 and things — and it knocked me down, and tore my 
 face and hands. I felt just as I used to feel when I 
 was small and fell down on the gravel in our garden 
 at home. I cried when I'd picked myself up, I 
 couldn't help it; but I managed to skirt round the 
 bush, and found myself on a widish path, which 
 looked just a little paler than the blackness every- 
 where else. It seemed to run down hill, and I hoped 
 it would lead to the lodge-gate and the high-road. 
 I felt such an idiot, tearing along in stocking-feet —
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 231 
 
 both my shoes had gone as I fell down the tree — and 
 crying as I went." 
 
 Her eyes were overflowing again with the remem- 
 brance of her Odyssey ; but Joyce kept her gaze fixed 
 on the glowing end of her mephitic cigarette, appar- 
 ently unconscious of her friend's weakness. 
 
 "Once or twice," Shirley continued, "I pulled up 
 and listened, while I got my breath. There wasn't 
 a sound. The night was as still as still. That, and 
 the sickening sleepy dizziness that was coming over 
 me worse and worse every moment made me slacken 
 up a little. I was sure I'd got far enough away 
 by this time to have given him quite a large part 
 of the grounds to hunt for me in ; and in the pitch 
 darkness it wouldn't be an easy job. If I didn't 
 rest before long, I felt I should fall down and die. 
 I wanted so badly to sleep, Joyce. Wasn't it funny ? 
 I began to long for sleep even more than to be safe ; 
 and I kept saying aloud to myself as I walked on: 
 'Just thirty yards more,' and so on. "Just to the 
 bottom of the hill. It must be close, now.' And 
 then I stumbled and fell on my knees, and could 
 hardly get up again. I was quite done; I should 
 have to stay where I was, and trust to luck. There 
 was a big clump of bushes touching my elbow, and 
 I pushed my way through them into a little clearing, 
 and there was Mr. Burrell sitting on the ground and 
 staring up at me."
 
 232 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 The seemingly unconscious artfulness of this nar- 
 rative surprise brought Joyce bolt upright in her 
 chair, with a face of amazement. 
 
 "Oh, Shirley ! You must have been lightheaded." 
 
 "No, no. It was Mr. Burrell all right." 
 
 "But . . . but. . . ." Joyce's tone of protest 
 was almost indignant. "Sitting in the middle of a 
 bush in the middle of the night in the middle of the 
 winter ! What do you make out he was after ?" 
 
 "I can't imagine. But there he was. I was wide 
 awake still, and quite sensible. Keally, Joyce, I'm 
 not mad ; it was him." 
 
 "How did you know it was? Just now you told 
 me that it was pitch dark." 
 
 "He had an electric lamp; one of those little 
 polished boxes, with a round glass in front, you 
 know. I fancy he switched it on as I came through 
 the bush, to see who I was, of course; and I could 
 see his face for the moment as plainly as I see 
 yours now." 
 
 Joyce resigned herself to the fabulous with an un- 
 convinced grunt. 
 
 "Did he seem surprised to see you ?" 
 
 "I'm not sure. No, I think not ; his face looked 
 quite colourless and blank in the light. ISTo, as far 
 as I remember he had rather the expression you 
 might have if someone came into your bedroom un- 
 expectedly, and turned out to be your maid. 'Oh, 
 it's only you.' . . . But I hadn't time to notice very 
 
 id
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 233 
 
 much, because he turned off the light again at once." 
 
 "Without saying anything ?" 
 
 "Not a word. Then I heard him getting up, and 
 I turned round and ran for my life." 
 
 "Did he come after you ?" 
 
 "No. That rather looked as if he was as anxious 
 to avoid me as I him, don't you think? Every 
 moment I expected to feel him catch hold of me. 
 If he had, I should just have died on the spot. 
 But I got onto the path again and some way down 
 it without anything happening, and then I listened 
 again, and the night was as quiet as ever." 
 
 "I'm quite sure you imagined all that part." 
 
 "Truly I didn't. If you knew what a shock 
 it gave me, you couldn't suggest that it was my 
 fancy. ... So, when I was sure he wasn't follow- 
 ing me, I ran on a little further, and then the path 
 turned to the left, and there was the drive and 
 the lodge-gate, sure enough. Next minute, I 
 scrambled over the gate — somebody had locked it 
 — and was on the high-road. You can't imagine how 
 safe and homely and comfy it looked ; though I was 
 miles from anywhere, I knew, and probably the 
 ditches were full of burglars and people. But I 
 never thought of them; and it didn't even occur 
 to me that he would follow me there, and take me 
 back, although I can't now see why he shouldn't 
 have. Oh, and I was so tired and sore and lame and 
 sleepy and sick and out of breath, and my heart
 
 234 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 thumped so abominably. I only managed to struggle 
 on a few yards, and then I thought I'd sit down under 
 the hedge and rest a little. You see, I'd forgotten 
 there'd be a ditch, and I fell plump into it; but 
 luckily it was a dry one, and I struggled up against 
 the bank, and wrapped my cloak round me as well 
 as I could, although I was quite hot then. But I 
 knew I should be freezing again in a minute or 
 two. . . . And then I don't remember any more. 
 Either I fainted, or I dropped straight off to sleep. 
 I think it must have been sleep." 
 
 "I never heard anything like it," Joyce was moved 
 to admit. "I wonder you didn't die; and yet you 
 seem to be pretty well now, barring bruises." 
 
 "I am; that's the extraordinary part of it. Of 
 course, I feel stiff all over, and my head and hands 
 hurt a good deal, and one of my legs is black and 
 blue from the knee to the waist at the back. But 
 I'm perfectly well, as far as that goes. And there's 
 another thing; I always imagined I was a hopeless 
 coward; but I got through all this, and didn't faint 
 at the wrong time, or go mad, or anything; and 
 somehow it's rather exciting to look back on." 
 
 There was a note of justifiable pride in her voice 
 as she referred to her own exploits thus, and her 
 companion gave her a word of temperate admira- 
 tion. 
 
 "Yes, you were rather wonderful, when it came 
 to the worst. But how on earth did you get back
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 235 
 
 here and into that dress, with your hair done and 
 your nose powdered, by tea-time?" 
 
 "That was great luck. When I woke up, I sup- 
 pose it must have been somewhere about nine or ten 
 o'clock. The sun was shining (you had a fog here 
 this morning, didn't you ?) but it was freezing hard. 
 For a little bit, I simply couldn't move a finger. It 
 was like being paralysed; or in a night-mare, you 
 know, when you see a mad bull coming your way. 
 Then I managed to sit up and rub my hands to- 
 gether, like two sticks ; I couldn't bend them or feel 
 them at all, and they made a noise like dead leaves. 
 But by and by I could use them a tiny bit, and I 
 hauled myself out of the ditch and stamped my feet 
 on the road until they came alive again, hurting 
 horribly. I was shivering all over, and so hungry 
 that I thought of eating twigs off the hedge. But 
 that was the worst of it; I wasn't feeble, or ill, or 
 helpless. Joyce, can you understand it? . . . 
 There didn't seem to be a soul about, and of course 
 I hadn't an idea which way to walk to get to Bye, 
 or anywhere else. One thing I couldn't do, however, 
 and that was to pass the lodge-gate. I couldn't 
 even bear to look at it, and see how near it I'd gone 
 to sleep. So that settled my direction, and I hobbled 
 off as fast as I could, trying to get a little warmer; 
 but it wasn't very fast; and in about ten minutes 
 I saw a cottage, the other side of a meadow on my 
 right, not far off. As I stopped to look at it, a
 
 236 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 woman came out of the door to throw some water 
 out — it steamed like anything in the sunshine. That 
 was the only sign of human beings in sight, except 
 just a glimpse, now and then, of his house, very 
 white and glittery on the hillside on my left. Every- 
 where else, when I looked through gaps in the hedges, 
 I saw only empty fields. Well, I was just going to 
 climb over the ditch and make for this cottage, when 
 I heard a car coming on the road, a pretty long way 
 off, and I thought I'd wait for that. It could 
 hardly be one of his, because it was coming fast from 
 the direction in which I was walking. Of course, he 
 might have been out in it to look for me; but it 
 struck me that, if he was on a search, he'd hardly 
 be scorching along at that rate. Anyhow, if I kept 
 close to a gap in the hedge, and it did turn out to 
 be him, I should have time to get half way across 
 the meadow before he was out of his car. He'd 
 hardly follow me, because the woman of the cot- 
 tage kept coming to the door, and calling out to 
 someone in the yard, whom I couldn't see; and 
 I should scream at the top of my lungs as I ran. 
 So as soon as the car came in sight, I got into the 
 middle of the road, and waved my scarf, and it 
 slowed down. Then I got back to the gap, and 
 waited for it to come up; and it wasn't one of his, 
 but a great big limousine, painted dark blue, with a 
 man in it, all cosily wrapped up." 
 
 "Now I understand," Joyce commented.
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 237 
 
 "You wouldn't say that if you'd seen his face, 
 staring at me through the glass; and the chauffeur 
 looked almost more alarmed. They nearly made 
 me laugh, although I was very cold and hungry and 
 unhappy; but I could guess what I looked like — 
 or partly ; I didn't realise the full horror of my ap- 
 pearance until I got back here. I think Mr. Hib- 
 berd was a darling to have anything to do with me; 
 I wouldn't have let such a disgusting object into my 
 beautiful new car. When I saw myself in the glass, 
 two or three hours later, I blushed all over to think of 
 myself sitting beside him and talking, as if I was 
 a decent human being. My hair was half down, 
 and full of twigs and mould and dead leaves; my 
 fur coat was in tatters, and so were my stockings, and 
 lots of my toes were sticking through them. For- 
 tunately I could hide my feet under the rugs, or 
 I should think the poor man would have been sick. 
 And my face was absolutely filthy, and covered 
 with scratches, and bruised, as you see; and my cut 
 lip had bled all over my chin. You'd have said 
 I'd been drunk and fighting in the gutter, all night ; 
 but Mr. Hibberd was just as polite and friendly 
 and talkative as if he'd been driving a smart woman 
 down to Ranelagh." 
 
 "He'd fallen in love with you . . . beauty in 
 distress, and all that sort of thing," pronounced 
 Joyce. 
 
 "Joyce, dear! ... I don't think I could ever
 
 238 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 speak to him again, if I thought he had such a dis- 
 gusting taste. Besides, he's over sixty, and fat and 
 bald ; and has a son who was a brigadier, and several 
 other children. Such a kind old thing! He has 
 something to do with ships, he told me ; and he dashes 
 up and down, every day or two, between London 
 and Winchelsea, where he lives." 
 
 "How did you explain the state you were in? 
 Did you tell him about Talbot ?" 
 
 "I didn't dare. He'd have taken me for an es- 
 caped lunatic, like the woman in Wilkie Collins, 
 you know. In fact, I was afraid he'd do that any- 
 how, until it occurred to me that people in asylums 
 don't dress for dinner — at least, they don't, do they ?" 
 
 "We didn't at the last one I was in," Joyce told 
 her. 
 
 "Anyhow, Mr. Hibberd appeared to believe any- 
 thing I chose to say, and was full of sympathy. As 
 soon as he saw me, he got out of the car, and came up 
 and asked me what was the matter. I hadn't pre- 
 pared any sort of explanation, but it came along as 
 I talked, partly true and partly not. He was old 
 enough to make it possible to hint at rather a nasty 
 story, which was the only kind I could think of." 
 
 "What a mind !" Joyce exclaimed, much shocked. 
 "Get on!" 
 
 "I mean, I didn't have to invent much, if I 
 made it a nasty story; and I'm never any good at 
 inventing, even when I'm not hungry and frozen
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 239 
 
 and miserable. So I let him understand that some- 
 body in the neighbourhood — a man — had asked me 
 down for the week-end, to join a party, and that 
 I found there wasn't a party, that I was all alone 
 with him; and that he made love to me, and I got 
 frightened and escaped out of the window, and ran 
 for miles and miles and miles — I made it lots of miles, 
 to put him off the scent; and that I'd fallen down 
 once or twice, and then fainted in a ditch. You 
 see, Joyce, it was fairly true; and I couldn't have 
 told him everything, could I? He'd probably have 
 got frightened of me, if I had, and driven away, 
 and sent a policeman back to look after me. . . . Oh, 
 he was so angry ! He wanted to know who the man 
 was ; said he ought to be horse-whipped ; he'd horse- 
 whip him, himself, if nobody else would; and he'd 
 make his name — well, you know; that disgusting 
 thing that old gentlemen make names do, when they 
 don't like them. Of course, I thanked him very 
 much, and said I couldn't bring strangers into a 
 thing of this sort; and I made up some brothers, 
 who were very good at horse-whipping, and would 
 like doing it; and then he was nice enough to drop 
 the subject. He hadn't got a looking-glass in his 
 car — I think he had almost everything else — and I 
 wasn't inclined to get out and let anybody see me, 
 if I could help it; but he assured me I looked all 
 right — Very nice,' he said; and he took one rather 
 large branch out of my hair for me, but left all the
 
 240 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 rest in. Perhaps he thought they were meant to 
 be there — a sort of woodland wreath — and that I 
 should be cross if he mentioned them as if they 
 were accidental." 
 
 "Once, at a dance," Joyce put in reflectively, "I 
 had a large smut in the middle of my forehead ; and 
 when I discovered it, and asked my partner why 
 he hadn't told me, the fool said he thought it was 
 a beauty-spot. . . . Did your old man bring you 
 right up to your door?" 
 
 "Yes. Wasn't it sweet of him? It was miles 
 out of his way. Oh, he stopped at the first inn we 
 came to, after he'd found me, and got out and bought 
 me things to eat and drink ; slices of bread and but- 
 ter and ham and beef, and some brandy and water 
 in a flat bottle. They did taste good ; I don't know 
 when I've eaten such a lot; and I think I must 
 have drunk a little too much brandy, because I fell 
 asleep, while I was smoking a cigarette that he gave 
 me, and didn't wake up till we got here, about one 
 o'clock. I was afraid he'd think that rather rude, 
 but he was awfully nice, and asked me to go and 
 have dinner with him the week after next, when he's 
 coming up, with two of his daughters, to his flat 
 in Cavendish Square. He's a widower." 
 
 "Well, you might do worse, my girl. We none 
 of us get any younger," her friend philosophized. 
 "So that's the end of the story. You were a fool." 
 
 "Why ?" asked Shirley penitently.
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 241 
 
 "To go to that beast's house at all. Didn't I 
 tell you he was up to something?" 
 
 "I know; but it seemed ridiculous. He'd al- 
 ways been so kind and friendly. Besides, how 
 could I possibly guess that he was a magician, born 
 hundreds of years ago ? I never heard of such a 
 thing." 
 
 "Really? It's fairly common. But I warned 
 you that he was no good ; and you might have guessed 
 he was the sort of man who'd make up any lies, 
 or behave in any abominable way, to get what he 
 wanted." 
 
 Shirley fell into momentary abstraction. The ex- 
 citement of recounting her adventures had left her, 
 and her bruised face was sad. 
 
 "You think he made it all up?" she asked pres- 
 ently, with some obvious hesitation. Joyce gaped 
 on her rustically, with round eyes and a dropping 
 jaw. 
 
 "Oh no ! I think, of course, that he is Old 
 Mother Shipton, and was born in the reign of Wil- 
 liam the Conqueror, and runs about in the shape of 
 a wolf at nights. But then I've got such a trusting 
 nature. I wasn't sure if you had." 
 
 "Well, but look here!" argued the other, who 
 seemed to have some lingering doubts as to the 
 mortality of Sir Edward. "How do you account 
 for me not being an utter wreck after what I went 
 through last night? I was frightened out of my
 
 242 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 seven senses, and I fell out of a third-floor window, 
 and was frozen stiff, for nine hours or so, in a ditch. 
 Ordinarily, if I walk too far, or sit up late a couple 
 of nights running, I'm fit for nothing next day. It 
 must have been that stuff he gave me that pulled 
 me through it, and left me practically all right at 
 the end." 
 
 "I didn't say it wasn't; in fact, I should think 
 it very likely was. But that doesn't prove that he 
 made it out of something that he found in Canter- 
 bury Cathedral, centuries ago, does it ? Lots of these 
 drug-things buck one frightfully for a time, I be- 
 lieve; especially if one isn't accustomed to them. 
 That stuff that Tommy Barclay died of — cocaine, 
 wasn't it? She used to take it to cheer herself up. 
 And there are others, too; I don't remember their 
 names. Probably to-morrow you'll feel like a stale 
 banana. It hasn't worked off yet; that's all; and 
 no doubt it saved your life last night. Drunk people 
 hardly ever come to any harm. You were drunk. 
 You're still drunk." 
 
 "I don't feel drunk," Shirley said cautiously. 
 "But I certainly look it, so perhaps I am. And, ac- 
 cording to you, there's no more in it than that? 
 But then why on earth did he make up all that 
 rigmarole? Is he mad? Part of the time he was 
 talking I thought he was mad, and that frightened 
 me more than anything. I'd rather meet a wizard
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 243 
 
 than a madman, any day, wouldn't you? You can 
 reason with a wizard, I suppose." 
 
 "I talked to David Devant once, when I went 
 on the stage to help him with a trick," answered 
 Joyce, "and he seemed most reasonable. Yes, I 
 dare say Edward's a bit touched; but I'm sure he 
 isn't as mad as all that. Very likely he believes in 
 some of this spiritualistic bosh, but he doesn't fancy 
 he's Doctor Dee, any more than I do. Only he 
 finds that he can get a certain number of people to 
 swallow anything he tells them — you, for instance, 
 and dear Basil Jacinth (ugh!) and Rita and Ga- 
 thorne, who really is mad, I'm afraid, or rather hope, 
 considering the way he goes on ; and some of those 
 people you heard, up to some revolting beastliness 
 in the chapel, no doubt ; and it gives him a position, 
 and makes them obedient. Of course, a good many 
 of the gang must know it's all rot; Magdalen — " 
 
 "You don't think she's in it ?" 
 
 "I'm sure she is. And old Lewis, who doesn't 
 believe anything, even when it's true. But they 
 like all the nasty part of the business, so they back 
 him up in his lies." 
 
 "Well, he must be an extraordinary actor," mur- 
 mured Shirley, clearly not yet convinced. "If you 
 could have heard him tell his history — and see him ! 
 Sometimes he really seemed to forget I was there, 
 and be talking for his own pleasure; absolutely
 
 244 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 bursting with conceit and a kind of disgusting de- 
 light. No, I can't believe he's just a fraud, as 
 you say. Either he's speaking the truth. . . ." 
 
 "Shirley !" 
 
 "Well, then he's raving, and can play at being 
 sane, in public. Isn't it too horrible? Oh, but 
 Joyce !" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "His ears! That magician had short ears — they 
 were cut you know, as a punishment; so had the 
 man in Holborn that the police were after; so has 
 he. Isn't that rather . . . covld it be only a coin- 
 cidence ?" 
 
 The fear in her eyes shewed that she found this 
 evidence of identity hard to surmount. 
 
 "You've only got his own statement that Dee's 
 ears were cropped," Joyce pointed out. "Very likely 
 no such man ever existed; I never heard of him. 
 What's much more probable is that he read about 
 the Holborn case, and saw how he could get up a 
 belief that he was in it, and hadn't changed for 
 thirty years. He's just the sort of person to have 
 bits of himself cut off to help him to act a part. 
 Or perhaps the fact that he had naturally deformed 
 ears suggested the whole idea of this immortality 
 business to him ; if he hadn't grown any older during 
 the last generation, he might just as easily go back a 
 few centuries. That seems an easier explanation 
 of the ear-touch than his own, to my mind."
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 245 
 
 "It does, doesn't it?" Shirley said eagerly. "So 
 it was all just a ghastly performance, to frighten me. 
 What do you think they were up to, when I . . . ? 
 What do you think he meant to do to me ?" 
 
 Joyce pouted her lips, raised her eyebrows, and 
 shook her head slowly. 
 
 "I can't imagine. But I'm sure of one thing: 
 it was worth all you went through, to get out of 
 that room before he came back." 
 
 For once in a way she spoke quite seriously, 
 and Shirley, turning a shade paler, looked into 
 the fire in alarmed silence. 
 
 "What are you going to do about it?" asked 
 Joyce, of a sudden. 
 
 "Oh, nothing." 
 
 "Nothing?" cried her friend, startled into indig- 
 nation. "Nothing? You mean to say you're just 
 going to sit tight and let that devil go on with his 
 games, just because you yourself managed to escape 
 by the skin of your teeth?" 
 
 This was undoubtedly what Shirley had meant, 
 for she moved uneasily in her chair, and her colour 
 returned and deepened. 
 
 "I don't see what I can do. I can't do anything." 
 
 "Rot! You know you can; and you must, too. 
 Think of that scream you heard — " 
 
 "But I heard a lot after. It might only have 
 been someone in hysterics." 
 
 "Yes; or it might have been that wretched girl
 
 246 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 who had dinner with you, whom Edward had roped 
 in for his tortures, just because people like you, 
 in the past, have funked giving him away." 
 
 "But she knew all about it. She wasn't an out- 
 sider, like me." 
 
 "Who told you that? Truthful Edward, wasn't 
 it ? Not the girl herself, any way. And whether 
 she was a new hand or not, you know how they treat 
 some of their — their initiates, or whatever the idiot 
 word is. There was that woman in Holborn — " 
 
 "Joyce !" cried Shirley, going white again. "You 
 don't think they murdered her ?" 
 
 "I don't. If I did, I'd bo off to the police station 
 this instant. But even they would hardly begin an 
 evening's amusement by murdering somebody, par- 
 ticularly somebody that you'd already seen, and 
 would miss. Unless of course they were going to 
 murder you too ; and I'm sure that wasn't Edward's 
 idea." 
 
 "Then what are we to do?" 
 
 "Inform against the whole beastly crowd, of course, 
 and get them stuck in prison ; Edward and Gathorne 
 and Madame — I wish you could remember her name, 
 but a great, fat Jezebel like her ought to be trace- 
 able. Oh, and the servants — the nigger — but they'd 
 be sure to swear they hadn't any notion of what 
 went on in the cellar. I bet Magdalen was there. 
 I wish we could get her; and Bumpus and Lewis.
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 247 
 
 Above all, Lewis; 'scurvy, filthy, scurvy old' Lewis. 
 But Edward and Gathorne, anyhow; and that'll 
 pay off my score as well as yours." 
 
 "We don't know that Mr. Burrell had anything 
 to do with it," 
 
 "No ; he may have been doing a fresh air cure ; 
 otherwise it looks as if he was taking part in the 
 game. Or can you think of any other reason for 
 him being there?" 
 
 Shirley shook her head. 
 
 "Evidently he wasn't sent after me, anyhow; and 
 I'm pretty sure Sir Edward didn't know where he 
 was. A man can't be sent to prison for sitting in a 
 bush; and I shouldn't imagine it's a crime, as far 
 as that goes, to say you're a wizard and can't die, 
 unless you make it an excuse for getting money out 
 of people. You see, he didn't do anything to me; 
 or, as far as I actually know, to anyone else." 
 
 "He did. He shut you in a room, and wouldn't 
 let you out. They call that false imprisonment, and 
 he can be had up for it ; and then all the other things 
 are sure to come out about him. Oh, you must!" 
 
 "It would be horrid," Shirley complained re- 
 sentfully. "What do you expect me to do ? Go and 
 tell a policeman about it ? I'm sure he wouldn't have 
 the patience to listen to such nonsense." 
 
 "Policeman! Of course not. You go to a so- 
 licitor, and he brings an action, or files a petition,
 
 248 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 or one of those things. If you haven't one of your 
 own, you can use ours. You've met Mr. Calhoun, 
 haven't you ?" 
 
 "The man who's deaf in one ear, and has to 
 turn his head back to front to hear you, if you're 
 sitting on his wrong side at dinner?" 
 
 "That's him; but he's gone deaf in the other ear, 
 too, lately. Mummy says that's an advantage -for 
 a lawyer, because he can hear both sides impartially. 
 He's not a bad old thing, and he carries a telephone 
 for one to talk into, so there's no difficulty. Shall 
 I get him to come and see you ?" 
 
 The face of the other girl was expressive of a 
 mulish recalcitrance. 
 
 "I should feel such a fool," she pleaded. "He — 
 Sir Edward, I mean — would only deny everything 
 I said, and get a lot of the people who were down 
 there to back him up; and the judge would make 
 stupid jokes about timid young ladies overrating 
 their charms, and all the jailers and lawyers would 
 laugh at me; and then I should go out and drown 
 myself. "No, Joyce, I can't. I'm sorry, but I 
 can't. I'll warn everyone I know to have nothing 
 to do with him ; but I can't do more than that." 
 
 "You are a funk," Joyce candidly informed her, 
 without any animus. "Never mind, poor old thing ! 
 You've had a mouldy time, and I don't wonder you're 
 not feeling up to any more, at present. Leave Ed- 
 ward Talbot to me. I bet I can make things un-
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 249 
 
 pleasant for him, without bringing you into it, 
 either." 
 
 "Oh, I don't mind being brought into it, so long 
 as I don't have to start it. I'm not really a funk; 
 only I should so hate to be the joke for the day in 
 the Evening News and the Star. ... I say, you 
 will stay to supper, won't you? I told Margaret 
 you would; and you can ring up your mother from 
 here. Do! I don't feel like spending all the eve- 
 ning alone, after what happened last night." 
 
 "I should love to," Joyce replied, rising with alac- 
 rity and passing out into the hall. "I'll get through 
 now, before Mummy goes up to dress. . . . Western, 
 double three, four, three, double two . . . no, double 
 thrrrree. . . ."
 
 CHAPTEK XI 
 
 A FEW days later the Cassilis family left Lon- 
 don to spend Christmas at Overbourne. Shir- 
 ley had been asked to make one of the party; but 
 as she was only taking the briefest holiday, and had 
 already accepted a dinner invitation for Christ- 
 mas-day, she was obliged to refuse. Of Joyce, dur- 
 ing her month's rustication, she heard nothing, Miss 
 Cassilis having long solved the difficulty of keeping 
 pace with her numerous correspondents by declining 
 to write any letters at all. Sir Edward had utterly 
 vanished out of Shirley's world ; although she still 
 started at times when there came a ring at the 
 front door of her flat after nightfall. On such oc- 
 casions she was often to be seen stationed in the 
 hall, with her hand on the telephone, until the na- 
 ture of the summons was explained; so that, if no 
 actual illness resulted from her experiences at New 
 Place, her nerves had obviously been considerably 
 shaken. Little by little, however, in the common- 
 place routine of her life she recovered her normal 
 demeanour, while the expression of her face proved 
 her to be happier than she had been for some years ; 
 an odd but undeniable effect of her association with 
 one whom she now had good cause to detest and 
 
 250
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 251 
 
 dread. Nor did she meet any of the more inti- 
 mate friends of the pretended speculator, some of 
 whom were likely to have formed a part of the 
 congregation in the underground chapel in Kent. 
 Magdalen Herbert, for instance, who had at one 
 time almost pestered her with affectionate attentions, 
 gave no sign and uttered no word; not that she 
 was out of London, for she had been reported pres- 
 ent at a recent dinner party at her parents' house 
 in Phillimore Gardens. Possibly the supposed initi- 
 ate was afraid to meet her former friend, possibly 
 she was disgusted at the poor spirit that the novice 
 had shown. Whatever the cause of the estransre- 
 ment, Shirley was heard to make no complaint on 
 the subject. 
 
 Early in February a card arrived by post from 
 Palace Green indicating that Mrs. Cassilis had re- 
 sumed her bi-weekly "afternoons"; and on the fol- 
 lowing Sunday Shirley found herself seated in the 
 room in which she had made the acquaintance of 
 Sir Edward Talbot, adding her unobtrusive con- 
 tribution to the general clatter of feminine tongues. 
 There were ten or twelve women present, but Cap- 
 tain William Lovat was the only man to be seen; 
 and his heroism was soon accounted for by a whis- 
 pered communication from Joyce, made as she 
 handed Shirley a plate of cakes. 
 
 "Freeze out all these bores; I want to talk to 
 you afterwards. Billy and I are engaged," mur-
 
 252 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 mured the nymph quickly; and retreated, scarlet- 
 cheeked, to the corner seat where her sunburnt shep- 
 herd awaited her. 
 
 Of the rest of the company Shirley had 
 met only a few before: Mrs. Lampson, in- 
 calculably rich, but so modestly arrayed that 
 strangers, seeing her pass into her palace in Carl- 
 ton House Terrace, were prone rashly to assume 
 that the family was out of London, and that the 
 house was in charge of a caretaker; Mrs. Egerton, 
 the pretty young wife whom Joyce had suspected 
 of too lax an interpretation of the clauses of the 
 marriage contract; and, of course, Mrs. Cassilis 
 herself, effusive, handsome and elephantine. Be- 
 sides these there were present half a dozen women 
 of an approved London type, gracefully dressed, 
 accipitral of nose and eye, saurian of mouth, thin, 
 noisy, and more or less convincingly "made-up." 
 
 Side by side with Mrs. Egerton on a sofa, Shir- 
 ley had been laughing at the propositions of her 
 neighbour, who, whatever her secret history, was a 
 lively and engaging person, when her attention was 
 distracted by the entrance of Magdalen Herbert, in 
 her accustomed condition of mysteriously smiling 
 langour. The new-comer was obliged to pass Shir- 
 ley on her way to her hostess, and she greeted her 
 carelessly, with a good-humoured and sidelong nod ; 
 seating herself however, after the greetings were
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 253 
 
 achieved, on the opposite side of the room, and tak- 
 ing; no further notice of the friend for whom she 
 had so lately professed the warmest feelings. There 
 was no mistaking the snub; for her immediate 
 neighbours treated her as the merest acquaintance, 
 and there was an empty chair at Shirley's very el- 
 bow; but there had been no trace of displeasure in 
 her recognition, so that it was to be presumed that 
 her neglect was only due to the death, for want of 
 proper nourishment, of any interest which she had 
 formerly taken in the dress-designer. 
 
 "Magdalen, you can tell us," Mrs. Cassilis urged, 
 when the disturbed circle had settled down again, 
 "what in the world has happened to Sir Edward 
 Talbot?" 
 
 "I haven't an idea," drawled the girl, taking off 
 her right-hand glove with deliberation. "He hasn't 
 been to see me this ten-age." 
 
 "Nor any of us," her hostess told her. "He 
 used to be here constantly, and we haven't heard of 
 him now for — oh ! six or seven weeks, at least. Of 
 course, we were away for Christmas, but I wrote 
 and asked him down to Overbourne, and never had 
 any answer at all." 
 
 "Where did you write to ?" asked Billy Lovat. 
 
 "New Place, first; that beautiful house at Eye, 
 which he took last year, you know; but afterwards 
 I imagined that he must be in London, and that
 
 254 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 his letters hadn't been sent on, so I wrote to his 
 flat. When I still heard nothing, I tried his club 
 — that was three or four days ago. None of the 
 letters have come back . . . and there it is ! Do 
 you think he can be out of England V 
 
 "P'raps," said Magdalen, without interest. 
 
 "He's just the sort of man that does start off 
 at a moment's notice, as the mood takes him," Mrs. 
 Cassilis loudly ruminated. "But I'm rather sur- 
 prised he didn't send us a line of any kind. We 
 were quite old friends, and he was so fond of Joyce. 
 Wasn't he, darling?" 
 
 "Mummy! We couldn't stand each other," her 
 daughter protested. 
 
 "Don't be silly! When he stayed with us, last 
 summer, he devoted his whole attention to you 
 and Shirley. ... Oh yes! Little Shirley, you've 
 no news of him, I suppose ? Well, isn't that strange ? 
 JSTor has Mr. Lewis — nor Bita — anyone. If he was 
 on the Riviera, he'd have had plenty of time, by now, 
 to have got my first letters and answered them." 
 
 "I expect he's gone back to America, Adela," 
 Mrs. Lampson suggested, "and you'll hear from him 
 presently." 
 
 "That must be it. But it was very bad of him 
 to steal away like that. We were most anxious 
 to find him, because he was poor Mr. Burrell's 
 best friend. He had such an influence over him 
 that we thought he might have done him good. You
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 255 
 
 heard about poor, dear Gathorne Burrell, Magdalen, 
 naturally ?" 
 
 "Oh yes ! He's off his head, isn't he ?" Magdalen 
 asked, eating a sandwich with an air of detach- 
 ment. 
 
 "He's dead," announced Mrs. Cassilis in a shocked 
 voice. 
 
 "Is he? Poor Gathorne!" murmured the girl 
 perfunctorily. "When did that happen?" 
 
 "Only yesterday. I dare say it was a blessing, 
 for they tell me he was very bad — not likely to re- 
 cover for years, even if he ever did. It doesn't 
 really seem true; it doesn't seem possible. The 
 number of times I've seen him coming in at this 
 very door!" she reflected in an astonished tone, as 
 if she had alwavs regarded such an action as a cer- 
 tain prophylactic against insanity. "Such a nice — 
 such a handsome fellow ! We'd noticed that he was 
 getting a little farouche lately; he'd neglected us 
 a good deal ; but we never guessed ! How dreadful 
 life is sometimes, isn't it ?" 
 
 The ladies murmured their assent to this appre- 
 ciation of human affairs; and Mrs. Egerton sought 
 further particulars. 
 
 "Too horrible! He was quite young, wasn't he? 
 What did he die off" 
 
 Mrs. Cassilis shut her eyes. 
 
 "Oh, my dear, don't let's think of that! Of 
 course, he didn't know what he was doing; and it
 
 256 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 was scandalous that he wasn't better watched. Quite 
 an expensive place, too; and they seemed such nice 
 people, so Captain Lovat says. Didn't you?" 
 
 "I thought they were all right — kind and that, 
 you know," answered the soldier. 
 
 "Captain Lovat took endless trouble about the 
 poor fellow. In fact, nobody else lifted a hand to 
 help him. There are relations, too — uncles, and so 
 on. Would you believe it? They all stood aside, 
 and let a comparative stranger shoulder all the trouble 
 and responsibility." 
 
 "Oh, there wasn't very much one could do," 
 Billy assured her. "And Burrell had moments of 
 being fairly all right; and then he'd be quite obedi- 
 ent about everything." 
 
 "You know you simply slaved," she insisted. 
 "First, to get him out of that horrible place where 
 the police took him — he was found wandering, Caro- 
 line; and if he hadn't happened to have a tailor's 
 bill in his pocket they wouldn't have known who 
 he was. Then to find this retreat place, and get 
 hold of his family, and arrange the money diffi- 
 culty. You should have let us help. It makes me 
 feel so guilty to remember, that I did nothing at all." 
 
 "Really, there wasn't work enough for two," 
 he comforted her, "I didn't think there was any ob- 
 ject in bringing in more people than were absolutely 
 necessary. It was a pretty depressing business ; and 
 I'm glad it's over, for everyone's sake."
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 257 
 
 "Did you see the poor thing after he — after you'd 
 put him under proper care?" one of the guests 
 enquired. 
 
 "Yes, I went down once or twice ; sometimes he'd 
 be quiet, and sometimes it was pretty ghastly. And 
 yesterday they wired for me. It happened in the 
 early morning. . . ." 
 
 He looked distressed as he broke off, and his 
 brown face paled a little. The spectacle reduced 
 the company to an uneasy silence. 
 
 "Do let's talk of something else," Magdalen pro- 
 posed, with undisturbed composure. "Gathorne's 
 out of his troubles, and we don't all want to get 
 the horrors. Mrs. Cassilis, dare I ask for some 
 more tea ?" 
 
 If the interruption was expressed a little heart- 
 lessly, it was none the less warmly welcomed ; and 
 before another three minutes were over the general 
 attention was engrossed by a recent and most deplor- 
 able scandal, in which the names of several inti- 
 mate friends of most of those present were fascina- 
 tingly involved. 
 
 One by one, the guests chattered their way out 
 of the room; but Shirley, obedient to Joyce's whis- 
 pered order, stood her ground, and presently went 
 to join the newly betrothed on their sofa, where 
 she conveyed her felicitations in a discreet under- 
 tone, was warmly thanked by the captain, and in- 
 formed by Joyce that the subject, from the point of
 
 258 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 view of news, was now closed, and to be considered 
 hereafter as a commonplace and accepted fact, un- 
 worthy of special comment. 
 
 "Mummy knows all about it," she murmured, with 
 a watchful eye on her unconscious mother, "and says 
 she refuses her consent now, but that we mav ask 
 her again in a year's time. Of course, that's just 
 nonsense, but there's no object in arguing about it. 
 Billy and I thought about the first week in July. . . . 
 You'll see me off, won't you ? I think I'll get Noel 
 for another; two's quite enough. ~No kids. They 
 always cry and fight, and have to be taken out in 
 tears. Besides, what have kids got to do with it, 
 anyhow ? . . . Now let's drop it." 
 
 The party had been by this time reduced to the 
 conspiratorial three, and Mrs. Lampson and her 
 hostess. Magdalen had left without a word either 
 to Joyce or Shirley, to both of whom she had merely 
 smiled her farewell from a distance. The two elderly 
 ladies were deep in a conversation that soon grew 
 so confidential as to call for a greater privacy ; when 
 Mrs. Cassilis, after excusing herself to Shirley, and 
 smiling with a significant indulgence on her daughter 
 and Billy, removed her friend to a neighbouring 
 writing-room. Left alone with the forbidden lovers, 
 Shirley displayed some disposition to return to the 
 subject of their espousals but was checked at the 
 outset. 
 
 "We particularly wanted you to wait till the
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 259 
 
 others had gone," Joyce firmly interrupted her, "be- 
 cause Billy's got something to tell you that you'll 
 be interested in. I let him know what you told me 
 about Edward Talbot — you don't mind, do you? 
 and we made all sorts of plans for bowling him 
 out, before he could do any more harm. Billy 
 never liked him — did you? — thought he looked a 
 wrong 'un; so he rather jumped at the chance. The 
 idea was that he should run down to Rye in his 
 car, and see how the land lay first — who was at 
 the house, whether the neighbours knew anything 
 about what was going on, and so on ; and then de- 
 cide what was the next best thing to do. However, 
 before he had a chance of starting, the whole affair 
 straightened out of its own accord. Only a few 
 days — three or four — after you'd been there, some 
 sort of a tradesman — who was it ?" 
 
 "My tailor, Marshall," Billy continued. "The 
 police had come to him to make enquiries about 
 Burrell, and he referred them to me as the only 
 friend of his that he knew of. It was Burrell 
 who'd recommended Marshall to me, about the middle 
 of last year. Well, the police told me that for some 
 days there'd been stories of people being frightened, 
 in the Rye neighbourhood, by the sight of a fellow 
 wandering about the lanes and fields, obviously not 
 all there. He doesn't seem to have done any actual 
 harm; in fact, one of the things they objected to 
 was that he always ran away, full speed, when he
 
 260 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 met anyone; jumping hedges, scrambling through 
 ponds — any old way. But his appearance put them 
 off, and, poor chap, he must have looked pretty aw- 
 ful, from all accounts; clothes hanging in rags and 
 simply plastered with mud, hair on end, all torn 
 and covered with blood, white face, glaring eyes — 
 not at all the sort of thing to meet in the dusk, if 
 you were alone. Once a farm-girl went into an 
 outhouse in the early morning to get a pail or some- 
 thing. It was pretty dark, and there was a great 
 heap of straw or hay in the corner, and as she looked 
 at this, she saw a pair of eyes watching her. She 
 got back to the door in a bit of a hurry — she knew 
 they were a man's eyes, she said — and let out one 
 yell ; and the next moment he'd burst out on her 
 in a flash, squirmed under her arm and round her, 
 and was away, running like blazes across the fields. 
 Another time, a party of kids were coming home 
 from school in the late afternoon, when he stalked 
 out of a coppice, crossed the road, with his face 
 turned towards them and staring down at them, 
 slithered on his stomach under the hedge, made a 
 funny noise — like a hare, one of them told the 
 police — and took to his heels. They could see him 
 going for some time, flying over everything that 
 came in his way, his arms flapping like wings, 
 and looking back every two or three seconds over 
 his shoulder. Then a parson walked right into 
 him at the corner of a lane one night. The padre
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 261 
 
 had been out to dinner, and was on his way home. 
 Burrell jumped back as if he'd trod on a snake, 
 and looked at the old boy in a way which he didn't 
 like a little bit. He was pretty scared, but he man- 
 aged to ask what was wrong; you see, Burrell 
 looked very much as if he'd been pitched out of 
 a car through a thorn-hedge into a clay-pit. 'It's 
 you again, is it?' said Burrell, cursing the parson 
 in the most sulphuric way — not that he'd ever met 
 him in all his life; and then he bolted down the 
 road, the way he came. The parson told the police, 
 and they beat the neighbourhood next day, and at 
 last walked him up out of a whin, somewhere in 
 the Lydd direction. He put up a great fight, but 
 they got him trussed up finally, and off to the nearest 
 police-station. By this time, of course, they realised 
 what was the matter with him, for he shouted at 
 the top of his lungs, about murders and goodness 
 knows what all, while they were getting him along. 
 Evidently he hadn't eaten for days, and even the 
 bobbies admitted that they were frightened to look 
 at him." 
 
 "Billy tells a story jolly well, I think," Joyce 
 put in, with approbation; but Shirley only nodded 
 palely. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Cassilis told you what happened then. 
 He had money in the bank, and we got him into 
 a decent sort of 'approved' house at Littlestone, in- 
 stead of the asylum. The doctor in charge took in
 
 262 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 a couple of other patients, and struck me as a sen- 
 sible fellow; but evidently be was a bit slack, for 
 yesterday morning he left Burrell alone in his room 
 for a minute or two; and he immediately broke — 
 well, he finished himself off, thank God! I don't 
 believe he'd ever have got well; and he was only 
 about twenty-seven, and might have lived another 
 fifty years." 
 
 "I hated him a good deal lately," reflected Joyce. 
 "You know he was rude and beastly at times ; wasn't 
 he, Shirley? But if he was mad, it wasn't his 
 fault. It was a rotten way to finish off, and he 
 used to be nice." 
 
 "I suppose," said Shirley, "he was mad, last 
 time I saw him. Joyce told you about that, didn't 
 she?" 
 
 "I expect he was, more or less," Billy agreed, "but 
 he may only have been on the verge of it then, 
 and broken down altogether an hour or two later. 
 Because that's not all about him. While he was 
 in this 'home," he told Mr. Lilly a most extraor- 
 dinary story, which Lilly passed on to me yesterday. 
 Joyce has heard it already. No doubt it was 
 all a delusion, Lilly said, although he appeared 
 to be rational enough while he was telling 
 it. ... I wonder! . . . Talbot has certainly dis- 
 appeared." 
 
 "What ?" cried Shirley, with dilated eyes. 
 
 "It came to this. Lilly didn't profess to remem-
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 263 
 
 ber all of it, or exactly how Burrell put it. Tal- 
 bot, so he said, had spoilt his life for him, since 
 they became friends, a year or two ago — how, Lilly 
 didn't know; but he rambled on about disgracing 
 him, and ruining his health, and parting him from 
 some girl he was in love with. Apparently there 
 was no doubt he had the drug habit very badly, 
 and he looked as if he drank too, and his nerves were 
 all to rags. In some ways, Lilly said, he was like 
 an old, worn-out man. It wasn't the result of his 
 going mad ; there was what Lilly called 'physical 
 degeneration, as one finds in senile decay.' Those 
 were his actual words ; I remember them quite well. 
 And yet, you know, he didn't look any older than 
 he was, did he? Burrell said that he'd been per- 
 fectly well and happy before he met Talbot, and that 
 he'd had lots of friends ; but that he'd lost everything 
 since by allowing himself to be badly influenced. 
 Very likely he was speaking the truth there. We 
 know now, after what you've been through, Miss 
 Cresswell, that Talbot was — or is — a poisonous sort 
 of fellow; and he and Burrell were very thick for 
 some time. Finally, it seems, they had a regular 
 bust-up, and separated ; and from that moment Bur- 
 rel was determined to get his own back somehow. I 
 think he gave Lilly to understand that the loss of 
 this girl of his, whoever she was, was the last touch, 
 and that soon after that he began to make plans 
 for his revenge. He tried to do Talbot harm, first
 
 264 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 of all, in all sorts of milder ways — by giving him 
 away to his respectable friends, and so on; but no- 
 body would listen to him — naturally, because Talbot 
 always looked quite sane and pleasant and clean, and 
 made himself agreeable to everybody; whereas Bur- 
 rell had already been bowled out (so he said ; I never 
 heard of it) in one or two nasty affairs, and was 
 getting wilder and dirtier and druggier every day. 
 Finding this was no good, he quite calmly decided 
 to kill him, while he was able to do it ; for he didn't 
 think that he himself would last much longer. Well, 
 the country seemed a more suitable spot for a mur- 
 der than London, so he took to haunting the neigh- 
 bourhood of the house at Eye, whenever Talbot was 
 down there. He wasn't going to risk failure, and 
 a good opportunity was sure to turn up presently he 
 thought. Talbot would walk out into the garden 
 at night, or into the woods in the daytime, and he 
 could be caught alone, out of hearing of his serv- 
 ants, and finished off, and buried." 
 
 "So that was what he was waiting for!" mur- 
 mured Shirley, in a breathless undertone. 
 
 "That was it. He'd been there several other 
 nights; but the house was always shut up, as soon 
 as it began to get dark, and Talbot never seemed 
 to go out except in a closed car, driven by a chauf- 
 feur. As soon as he saw you, however, he saw a 
 chance of pulling it off. He didn't tell Lilly who 
 you were; all he said was that he came across a
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 265 
 
 girl — a girl he knew to be decent — running away 
 from the house at midnight evidently terrified out 
 of her life, and apparently just fresh from a struggle 
 with somebody. He was pretty sure that Talbot 
 would never let her get away and tell her story, 
 without trying all he knew to catch her and stop 
 her mouth somehow — he wouldn't have thought twice 
 about killing you, Burrell declared, if he'd thought 
 it necessary; so the moment he heard you get back 
 through the bush and begin to run down hill to- 
 wards the gate, he went straight up to the house, 
 turned on an electric torch that he'd brought with 
 him, and rang at the front door. It was opened to 
 him at once by 'the black devil who helped him in 
 his work,' he said. Lilly took this to be mere rav- 
 ing, but I suppose he meant that nigger woman who 
 waited on you. And the next moment Talbot him- 
 self appeared white and raging. He forgot all about 
 his quarrel with Burrell, which I dare say he'd never 
 taken very seriously — " 
 
 "I'm sure he hadn't, from what he said to me," 
 put in Shirley. 
 
 "And he didn't trouble to keep up his usual 
 behaviour — that god-like calm you know. All he 
 was concerned about was to get you back in the 
 house before you gave the show away; and Burrell 
 played up to him like anything. He pretended that 
 he'd tried to get down earlier in the evening — for 
 the service or ceremony, or whatever it's called, I
 
 266 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 suppose, though he didn't mention that to Lilly. 
 Apparently he had a sort of general invitation to 
 attend these games. He told Talbot that he'd fallen 
 asleep in the train, and been carried past his sta- 
 tion; and when he got back to it by the next train, 
 there was no trap or cab to take him up to the 
 house, so that he had to walk. Soon after he got 
 through the lodge-gate, he met you walking fast 
 downhill. You wouldn't stop, or say a word, but 
 tore across the road, got into the fields on the other 
 side, and went on towards the sea-shore. He hardly 
 liked to stop you, as you appeared to be in your 
 right mind; but, for all that, he was afraid some- 
 thing must be wrong, or you wouldn't be walking 
 about in the country at this time of night. So he 
 thought the best thing to do was to hurry to the 
 house and ask Talbot's advice. There'd be no great 
 difficulty in catching you before you reached the 
 sea, as you were hobbling and fairly out of breath 
 when he met you. He didn't think you meant to 
 drown yourself, because you seemed to be heading 
 straight for a little line of cottages, whose lights 
 were the only ones to be seen from the lodge-gate. 
 Talbot hardly answered. He was dressed in a sort 
 of dressing gown and slippers, but he grabbed Bur- 
 rell and dragged him away down the drive, then and 
 there. 'Turn out that light of yours till it's wanted, 
 Gathorne,' he said, 'which way did the fool go?' 
 'So,' Burrell told Lilly, laughing like anything, 'I
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 267 
 
 steered him off to the waste ground that lay between 
 the fields and the sea.' " 
 
 Carried away by the dramatic nature of his tale, 
 Billy was beginning to supply his characters with 
 a suitable dialogue ; and Joyce regarded his earnest, 
 sunburnt face with manifest pride. 
 
 "Once or twice," the young man went on, "Bur- 
 rell would sing out 'Was that her?' or something 
 like that; and he kept edging Talbot away from 
 the cottages and down on to the foreshore. Pres- 
 ently the two found themselves in a little sand- 
 hollow, with nothing whatever in sight, and the 
 sound of the waves tumbling close by. 'And then,' 
 said Burrell, 'I pulled him up, and told him why 
 I'd brought him there. I didn't look at him while 
 I did that, because the devil's eyes always fright- 
 ened me. I knew they were on me now. He wasn't 
 a bit rattled. All he said was that I'd be sorry 
 later on, to have played the fool with him in this 
 way. You see, I really believe he'd forgotten that 
 a bullet or a knock on the head could finish him off 
 as easily as any other man. He knew it was so, 
 of course, but he hadn't thought of such a thing 
 for so long. ... I hated his calmness. I was sure 
 that in another second or two he'd have me beaten, 
 if I didn't do something at once. But fortunately 
 he made a mistake; he turned and began to stroll 
 away; and that moment I tucked my head down 
 and went for him. He shot round like lightning
 
 268 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 and caught me a crack on the jaw that nearly broke 
 my neck; but I closed, and stuck the whole nine 
 inches of it into his left side, just above the hip, 
 and down he went, bellowing like a bull. I couldn't 
 get the damned thing out, but I felt a big stone 
 under my knee, and I got it in both hands and 
 smashed up his skull with it, just as we used to 
 smash up butterscotch on the desk at school.' " 
 
 "Don't rub it in too much, Billy," Joyce warned 
 him. "Shirley doesn't like it." 
 
 "I'm sorry," apologised Billy, who was now openly 
 enjoying himself. "But really that was very much 
 what Burrell said. Lilly seemed to remember that 
 part almost word for word. Oh yes ! and he said 
 there was one odd detail that puzzled him a little. 
 Burrell kept calling this fellow 'Kelley.' . . ." 
 
 "That was the name, of course!" exclaimed Shir- 
 ley. 
 
 "Kelley and Talbot, indifferently; and mixing up 
 all kinds of remarks about living for ever, and 
 evil spirits, and goodness knows what. Naturally 
 this inclined Lilly to believe that the whole story 
 was just nonsense — delirium — a hash-up of things 
 that Burrell had read in books ; but he thought that 
 he'd better mention it to the police, all the same, in 
 case there was anything in it. Well, they knew of 
 Talbot, as a rich man who had a good many visitors ; 
 and they pointed out that if he'd really disappeared 
 suddenly and mysteriously, some of these friends, or
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 269 
 
 his servants, would have made enquiries about him 
 long before this. I ought to have told you that it 
 wasn't until he had been three weeks with Mr. Lilly 
 that Burrell told this yarn. However, as a matter 
 of form, they sent a man up to New Place, who 
 found it locked-up and apparently empty. Then 
 they really got to work to trace Talbot; and they 
 found he'd left no address for letters at the post 
 office, nor had he paid the tradesmen's books. His 
 London flat was shut up, and his club knew nothing 
 about him, and one or two of his friends, whom 
 they got onto, had nothing to suggest. All they 
 found out was that some of the villagers had seen 
 three cars, which they recognised as Sir Edward's, 
 dashing about the country, at high speed, on that 
 Sunday afternoon and evening; but what happened 
 to them after that couldn't be traced. They seemed 
 1o vanish off the earth. Possibly they may have 
 had their number-plates taken off, and been sold 
 to someone who wasn't too particular. The serv- 
 ants too, whom the tradesmen knew by sight, had 
 covered their tracks. You'd have imagined that the 
 black girl would have been pretty easy to follow; 
 but they never saw a hair of her; and as for the 
 visitors, there was nothing to show who they were, 
 or what became of them. Well, then they broke 
 into New Place. All the furniture was there, not 
 even covered with dust-sheets, the linen and plate 
 were in the cupboards, and they found lots of stores
 
 270 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 and food in the larder and other places, some of it 
 rotten. It seemed quite clear that the house had 
 been deserted at a moment's notice, and, if Talbot 
 had lived there alone, this would have supported 
 BurrelPs story. But one couldn't think of any rea- 
 son for the silence of the guests and servants, or why 
 they should clear out in this peculiar way. The 
 whole business looked so fishy that it was decided 
 to make a search of the beach, for any evidence of 
 a murder. There were a good many sand-hollows, 
 and some of these were on the foreshore, and so 
 covered at high-tide. I forgot to say that Burrell 
 never told Lilly what he did with the body, or 
 whether he did anything with it ; when he got to that 
 point, he went quite off his head again with excite- 
 ment, and talked the maddest rubbish. Nothing 
 was found to show that his confession was anything 
 more than a bad dream ; but supposing that the place 
 had been washed every day by the tides, there would 
 be no traces left, probably, and the body might very 
 well have been carried out to sea. Where they found 
 a hole that answered the description above high-wa- 
 ter-mark, they dug up the sand, to see if by any 
 chance he'd buried Talbot, but they had no luck. . . . 
 He's just gone. Either he's at the bottom of the sea, 
 or underground in some place they haven't spotted 
 yet ; or else he was badly frightened by you escaping, 
 with that beastly story against him, and thought it 
 wiser to clear out until the thing blew over. Or, if
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 271 
 
 he found you didn't mean to say anything about it, 
 he could have come back again, before long, with 
 his latchkey, and taken possession of his house again ; 
 saying he'd been abroad in the meanwhile. That 
 seems far the most likely explanation, after all, don't 
 you think so?" 
 
 "Why?" asked Joyce. "I should say that Ga- 
 thorne was telling the truth. Probably he chucked 
 the body in the sea. Then all these beauties at the 
 house, finding Edward didn't come back, would imag- 
 ine he'd got into trouble; and, as they didn't want 
 to be let in as well, they scattered and lost them- 
 selves." 
 
 "But at once?" Billy objected. "You see, Joyce, 
 from what the villagers said about the cars, it looks 
 as if the whole gang was out of the place before Sun- 
 day night. Surely they'd have waited at least a full 
 day before deciding that he didn't mean to come 
 back ?" 
 
 "They mightn't. One doesn't know all they'd been 
 up to in that cellar. ... Oh yes! Tell Shirley 
 about that !" 
 
 "What was that ?" asked Shirley. 
 
 "I was forgetting," Billy said. "Yesterday, when 
 I'd left Lilly, I thought I'd like to have a look at 
 ]STew Place, and see how it answered to your descrip- 
 tion of it to Joyce. I don't mean that I thought you 
 were romancing about it, of course ; but I wondered 
 if things had been left as you saw them in the chapel,
 
 272 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 and whether it would be possible to get any clue to 
 Talbot's whereabouts from anything he'd left behind 
 down there. So I got leave of the police to go over 
 the house. A bobby went with me. . . . Every- 
 thing was just as they had said. Beds, some made, 
 others that had been slept in ; the table you dined at, 
 still half laid; books and papers lying about; dead 
 flowers in vases — nothing out of the way or suspi- 
 cious ; an ordinary, well furnished house, from which 
 everybody had fled suddenly — the sort of thing one 
 used to see in France. The organ was still open in 
 Talbot's study, and I went down the steps, through 
 the cellar, and up the winding staircase, at the other 
 end, which led to the room which you jumped out of 
 the window of. The table and the two chairs were 
 still there; so were the bottle and the glass, both of 
 them empty and dry, but the books had been taken 
 away. In the chapel itself nothing had been left but 
 the bell — I suppose that was too heavy to move — and 
 the benches, pushed against the wall. I saw the 
 niches ; but there was nothing in them, nor in the 
 cupboard in the wall. The banners you talked about 
 had been taken down, and so had the two big curtains. 
 But there was a heap of curtains in an attic upstairs, 
 and I think I spotted the throne in the drawing room ; 
 one of a pair of huge chairs. Evidently the chapel 
 was the one place they'd taken the trouble to clear 
 up, before they bolted."
 
 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 273 
 
 "That looks as if they knew Talbot wasn't coming 
 back again/' Joyce suggested. 
 
 "Do you think so ? He might very well have been 
 afraid of the house being searched, and some of his 
 secrets being found out, while he was away," replied 
 Billy, "particularly if it wasn't safe for him to re- 
 appear for a long time." 
 
 "No; I believe he's dead," Joyce persisted, "and 
 I'm sure I hope so." 
 
 "He'd be no great loss, by all accounts," Billy 
 agreed. "Though, as far as we're concerned, I don't 
 know that it matters. If he does bob up again, he's 
 likely to keep clear of our set, and look for his dis- 
 ciples somewhere else." 
 
 "Still, I should like to think of him as dead, after 
 the harm he's done," said Joyce. "What's your 
 opinion about it, Shirley? You look very medita- 
 tive." 
 
 The other girl started. 
 
 "Oh, I expect he was killed. He wasn't the sort 
 of man to run away, unless there was something very 
 bad to face — like that dead girl in Holborn. He 
 could easily have explained my story away, and made 
 me look a fool. Yes; I believe Mr. Burrell killed 
 him." 
 
 "Two to one, Billy," Joyce proclaimed. "My only 
 regret is that Gathorne didn't slaughter all the rest 
 of the crowd, while he was about it ; particularly dear
 
 274 THE CASE OF SIR EDWARD TALBOT 
 
 Mr. Lewis, who's long been ripe for the dust-bin. 
 But it'll probably break up, now that it hasn't got 
 the great man to slobber over. At all events, he can't 
 do any more mischief, and you were lucky enough to 
 escape with nothing worse than a fright, Shirley." 
 
 Shirley hesitated for some seconds, and then 
 spoke, laughing a little, but not entirely naturally, 
 and with an obvious anxiety in her eyes. 
 
 "Unless he was speaking the truth about himself." 
 
 "How do you mean." 
 
 "That stuff he gave me to drink," she explained, 
 in the same tone of forced amusement. "Supposing 
 . . . it'd be an awful bore to be immortal." 
 
 Billy welcomed the joke delightedly; and Joyce 
 looked at her friend with an ambiguous expression of 
 entertainment. 
 
 "I don't know. Perhaps it would. . . . Oh, but 
 I shouldn't bother about that. When you've had 
 enough of it, you just call in Mummy's doctor, and 
 say you feel ill. He'll soon fix things up for you." 
 
 the end
 
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