I
MIDWAY through that April afternoon at the End House I thought: I shall
feel like continuing the novel to-night.... I didn't do so, as a matter
of fact, because I was too sleepy; but the desire was there, reawakened
by the extraordinary way in which events were developing.
Helen was out when I called, but Severn himself, reading in his
invalid-chair, was delighted to see me. I think he was still more
delighted when I recounted to him the full details of my interview with
June. His eyes quickened with excitement, and when I had finished he
said: "Well, Hilton, it all sounds most decidedly queer, but let's join
in thanking Heaven that _something_ has happened. If you only knew how
bored I am in this chair all day, you'd understand my deep gratitude to
Karelsky."
"To _him_?"
"Yes. For doing something interesting at last. When I read his stuff in
the papers last night, I said to myself--'Ah, the usual thing--some
discovery that will either be discredited within a fortnight or
superseded within a year....' But it _isn't_ the usual thing, if he's
stolen his ideas from Terry.... By Jove, it's going to be
interesting--damned interesting." He asked me to get him a box of
Havanas from a cabinet nearby, and when I brought it to him I saw that
his eyes were filling with tears. "_Interesting_!" he repeated, offering
me the box and lighting a cigar for himself. "D'you know--I've wondered
some times if I should ever have to use that word again? But _this_
news--well, it deserves it. And it's jolly good of you to use up your
valuable time in coming to tell me about it."
"It's more than interesting," I said. "It's serious. And it's going to
be made serious, too--for Karelsky."