He took a printed paper out of his pocket, smoothed it open with his
dirty hand and passed it to me. It was the election address of the
opposition candidates.
"That's an advance copy which I got from Briggs the printer on the
quiet. Perhaps you'll let me know what explanation you have to offer."
There had been some mystery as to who Crookenden's supporters were to
be. Now it seemed that the names were out. But what did the fellow mean
by asking me for an explanation? What had I to do with Mr Crookenden's
puppets? I glanced at the list. The first name was Crookenden's. Of
course, it always would be first, where he had a voice in the matter.
The second was "Ada Kate Laughton." It seemed incredible. Actually Mrs
Laughton. Well, if Laughton chose to let his wife make a public
exhibition of herself, all I could say was that I was extremely sorry
for him. Hadn't the woman any household duties to attend to? Everybody
knew who was the grey mare in that establishment. Some men do not know
how to rule their wives. Still, that such a woman as Mrs Laughton
should take it upon herself to oppose me was--I will be mild and say
surprising. The third name was--it was a hoax, a silly hoax. Tyler, or
someone, was trying to make me a butt for a practical joke. But I was
not to be so easily caught, the thing was too preposterous. Yet there
it was, in all the dignity of print. "Bloxam, Henrietta." Address, "The
Chestnuts." Description, "Married Woman." The letters danced before my
eyes. I stared at them with unseeing gaze.
"What nonsense is this?" I muttered.
"That's what I want to know, what nonsense that is. That's what I
thought I'd ask you to explain, like a man."
I looked at Tyler. Tyler looked at me. There was something on his face
which I did not relish; something which approximated to a grin, an
unfriendly grin.
"Where did you get this paper from?"
"I tell you--from Briggs the printer. He's printing them. That's a
private copy."
"It's a hoax. Someone's been having a joke with you."
"Don't you make any mistake. No one would play a joke off on me, not
round these parts."
He grasped his hammer in an eminently suggestive way. What he said was
probably correct. He had the reputation, a well-deserved one, of being
a man with whom one would joke with difficulty and danger.
"All the same, Mr Tyler, the statement on this paper is ridiculously
incorrect. Mrs Bloxam, my wife, is not a candidate; she has no
intention of becoming a candidate; and, I may say at once, that under
no circumstances would I permit her to do so. Especially in opposition
to me, her husband. The idea is really too ridiculous for
contemplation. I beg you will dismiss it at once and finally from your
mind."