Why hadn't he gone on with the girl's
story? What instinct had stuffed it back into his throat? Why the inexplicable
impulse to hurry this rather pathetic derelict on his way?
CHAPTER XV
Previous to his illness, Spurlock's mind had been tortured by an appalling worry,
so that now, in the process of convalescence, it might be compared to a pool
which had been violently stirred: there were indications of subsidence, but there
were still strange forms swirling on the surface—whims and fancies which in
normal times would never have risen above sub-consciousness. “I will tell you all that I know,” Anna said. Michelle said that
161
she had researched the case, even went to the library in
the town where it happened and looked it up in the local
paper there. "
"Piano-player? Do you mean someone who plays for you?"
"No, no; one of those mechanical things you play with your feet. Instead her
point disengaged, dropped, and then the sword came up again and banged, flatbladed, onto Gosse’s wrist with such force that his own blade dropped from his
grasp. I’d ruin the things if I so much as touched one. Before you know
where you are you find yourself in a complication. "
"Very well, sir. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’
‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. “I believe after all it’s coming out!” said Miss Stanley. On the other a wretched engraving of the Chevalier de Saint George, or, as he
was styled in the label attached to the portrait, James the Third, raised a
suspicion that the inmate of the house was not altogether free from some tincture
of Jacobitism. She got hysterical. .
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