Mr. Satterthwaite looked out of the window. It was raining steadily. He
shivered. Very few country houses, he reflected, were really properly
heated. It cheered him to think that in a few hours' time he would be
speeding toward London. Once one had passed sixty years of age, London
was really much the best place.
He was feeling a little old and pathetic. Most of the members of the
house party were so young. Four of them had just gone off into the
library to do table turning. They had invited him to accompany them but
he had declined. He failed to derive any amusement from the monotonous
counting of the letters of the alphabet and the usual meaningless
jumble of letters that resulted.
Yes, London was the best place for him. He was glad that he had
declined Madge Keeley's invitation when she had rung up to invite him
over to Laidell half an hour ago. An adorable young person, certainly,
but London was best.
Mr. Satterthwaite shivered again and remembered that the fire in the
library was usually a good one. He opened the door and adventured
cautiously into the darkened room.
"If I'm not in the way--"
"Was that N or M? We shall have to count again. No, of course not,
Mr. Satterthwaite. Do you know, the most exciting things have been
happening. The spirit says her name is Ada Spiers and John here is
going to marry someone called Gladys Bun almost immediately."
Mr. Satterthwaite sat down in a big easy chair in front of the fire.
His eyelids drooped over his eyes and he dozed. From time to time he
returned to consciousness, hearing fragments of speech.
"It can't be P A B Z L--not unless he's a Russian. John, you're
shoving. I _saw_ you. I believe it's a new spirit come."
Another interval of dozing. Then a name jerked him wide awake.
"Q U I N. Is that right?" "Yes, it's rapped once for Yes." "Quin. Have
you a message for someone here? Yes. For me? For John? For Sarah? For
Evelyn? No--but there's no one else. Oh! it's for Mr. Satterthwaite,
perhaps? It says, 'Yes.' Mr. Satterthwaite, it's a message for you."
"What does it say?"
Mr. Satterthwaite was broad awake now, sitting taut and erect in his
chair, his eyes shining.
The table rocked and one of the girls counted. "L A I--it can't
be--that doesn't make sense. No word begins L A I."
"Go on," said Mr. Satterthwaite, and the command in his voice was so
sharp that he was obeyed without question.
"L A I D E L--and another L--Oh! that seems to be all."
"Go on."
"Tell us some more, please."
A pause.
"There doesn't seem to be any more. The table's gone quite dead. How
silly."
"No," said Mr. Satterthwaite thoughtfully. "I don't think it's silly."
He rose and left the room. He went straight to the telephone. Presently
he was through.
"Can I speak to Miss Keeley? Is that you, Madge, my dear? I want to
change my mind, if I may, and accept your kind invitation. It is not so
urgent as I thought that I should get back to town. Yes--yes--I will
arrive in time for dinner."
He hung up the receiver, a strange flush on his withered cheeks. Mr.
Quin--the mysterious Mr. Harley Quin. Mr. Satterthwaite counted over on
his fingers the times he had been brought into contact with that man
of mystery. Where Mr. Quin was concerned--_things happened_! What had
happened or was going to happen--at Laidell?
Whatever it was, there was work for him, Mr. Satterthwaite, to do. In
some way or other, he would have an active part to play. He was sure
of that.
Laidell was a large house. Its owner, David Keeley, was one of those
quiet men with indeterminate personalities who seem to count as part
of the furniture. Their inconspicuousness has nothing to do with brain
power--David Keeley was a most brilliant mathematician and had written
a book totally incomprehensible to ninety-nine hundredths of humanity.
But like so many men of brilliant intellect, he radiated no bodily
vigor or magnetism. It was a standing joke that David Keeley was a real
"invisible man." Footmen passed him by with the vegetables, and guests
forgot to say how do you do or good-by.
His daughter Madge was very different. A fine upstanding young woman,
bursting with energy and life. Thorough, healthy, and normal, and
extremely pretty.
It was she who received Mr. Satterthwaite when he arrived. "How nice of
you to come--after all."
"Very delightful of you to let me change my mind. Madge, my dear,
you're looking very well."
"Oh! I'm always well."
"Yes, I know. But it's more than that. You look--well, blooming
is the word I have in mind. Has anything happened, my dear?
Anything--well--special?"
She laughed--blushed a little. "It's too bad, Mr. Satterthwaite. You
always guess things."