TWO CONVERSATIONS.
The inquest duly took place, but no evidence was forthcoming likely to
lead to the capture of the assassin. That he was The Spider there, of
course, could be no doubt, since the declaration of Vernon went to
show that the late Mr. Dimsdale had made an appointment with the
blackmailer. Naturally, the whole story had to be told at the inquest,
and the public became aware, through the medium of the newspapers,
that the dead man had a secret. It could not have been a dishonourable
secret, was the general opinion, else Mr. Dimsdale would scarcely have
risked a revelation. Using it, whatever it might be, as a decoy to
lure The Spider into a trap, he had lost his life in the attempt to
capture the famous criminal. And if The Spider had been celebrated
before, he was still more celebrated now, and in a more sinister way.
Formerly the police had wanted him as an extortioner; now he was
inquired for as a murderer.
The "Rangoon" crime--as it came to be called--made a mighty sensation,
as there was that about it which appealed to the somewhat jaded taste
of the public. That a man should be strangled in his own library, and
in the very house where nearly one hundred people were dancing, was
truly wonderful, when the sequel was that the assassin had escaped.
The windows of the library had neither blinds nor curtains; guests had
been talking and walking in the garden; on the other side of the tall
laurel hedge cabs and carriages with attendants had been waiting in
the road, yet The Spider had come and gone like a shadow. Behind the
frail concealment of the screen a terrible crime had taken place, and,
far from hurrying his departure, the criminal had actually lingered to
search for the money he hoped to get. It was proved at the inquest
that he did not get his plunder, for enquiries at Mr. Dimsdale's bank
showed that the thousand pounds had not been drawn. Undoubtedly, since
the dead man had intended to defy the blackmailer, the secret could
not have been one to be ashamed of. But what the secret was the public
never knew.
Vernon, as he had stated to Inspector Drench, was not proud that he
had been so cleverly tricked into temporary imprisonment by The
Spider, and would fain have kept that episode to himself. But for the
rounding off of the case, it was necessary that it should be told, and
thus sensation was piled upon sensation. Vernon, however, contrived to
keep the name of Miss Corsoon to himself and Drench, and it was
vaguely stated in the papers that Vernon had been inveigled to West
Kensington on the plea of helping a woman. Inquiries proved that the
landlord had never been applied to as regards the letting of Number
34. The Spider had simply seen that the house was empty and had gained
access thereto by means of a skeleton key. For one single evening he
had utilised the house as a prison; and when the police searched the
same, which they did from cellar to attic, they found no trace of The
Spider or of the white-faced woman who had played so clever a comedy.
The daring evinced in connection with the West Kensington house was
amazing; the escape of the assassin from "Rangoon" scarcely less so;
and the whole formed a case unexampled in the annals of crime for cool
audacity. And the outcome of the affair was extremely unsatisfactory.
Nothing could be discovered concerning the whereabouts of The Spider,
and whether he belonged to a gang or worked single-handed no one could
say. The man defied both detective and policeman, and laughed at the
attempts of the law to lay him by the heels. Letters were written to
the papers and leading articles appeared, clamouring that immediate
action should be taken against The Spider, who was a menace to
civilisation. The police did all that was possible, and hunted London
in the vain endeavour to lay hands on the rascal, but without success.
The Spider left no tracks behind him, and could not be followed to his
lair. A verdict of "Wilful Murder" was brought against him, and a
reward of one thousand pounds was offered at the instance of the
murdered man's daughter for his apprehension, but nothing further came
of the matter. The crime was a nine-days' wonder, but as the days grew
into weeks and weeks into months, public interest dwindled. It seemed
likely that the murder of Martin Dimsdale would have to be relegated
to the list of undiscovered crimes. Even Inspector Drench despaired of
success, and gloomily shook his head. Only Vernon remained firm in his
intention to solve the mysteries of the murder and The Spider, and he
said as much to Mrs. Bedge two months after Dimsdale had been laid in
his grave.
Maunders' aunt was a thin, aristocratic, pale-faced old lady, prim in
her dress and manners. She occupied a quiet, unpretentious house at
Hampstead, not far from "Rangoon." A note from her had brought Vernon
to see her, and now the two were seated in a pointedly antiquated
drawing-room, talking earnestly. Everything about the house and its
owner was prim, and the whole atmosphere suggested early Victorian
days. It seemed strange that so dismal and old-fashioned a house
should be the home of an intensely modern young man like Constantine
Maunders. But, as Mrs. Bedge informed Vernon, her nephew gave her very
little of his society, as he had engaged rooms in town and lived in
them the greater part of the week.
"He only comes from a Saturday to a Monday to stop here," sighed Mrs.
Bedge, folding her lean mittened hands on her drab-hued dress, "yet he
knows how fond I am of his company."
"Constantine was always selfish," remarked Vernon bluntly.
Mrs. Bedge protested with the foolish fondness of an old woman. "Oh,
indeed, you must not say that. Constantine is high-spirited, and I
daresay that he thinks this place somewhat dull. But when he is here I
invariably find him thoughtful and affectionate."
This was very probable, since Mrs. Bedge had money, and Maunders
expected to be her heir. It was not likely that so astute a person
would risk the loss of a fortune. Something of this sort must have
revealed itself in Vernon's eyes, for Mrs. Bedge, with the swift
instinct of a woman, guessed what he was thinking about.
"No," she said in her plaintive way, "it is not greed of money that
makes Constantine love me, but his own sweet nature which gives
affection, unasked. Constantine knows that I have spent a great deal
on his education and in fitting him out in life. Now I have very
little money left: this house, the furniture, and a few hundreds a
year. When I die he will receive very little, poor boy. I thought it
best that he should enjoy the money while he was young, and without
waiting for my death."
"Constantine ought to work," said Vernon, wondering at the blindness
which could describe Maunders as unselfishly affectionate.
"He intends to, when he can find something to his mind. And then, he
is so handsome that he may make a rich marriage. I thought Ida
Dimsdale would have taken him," sighed the old lady; "she has ten
thousand a year and is also a very charming girl. But there is no hope
for Constantine there."
"You astonish me," said Vernon, and meant what he said. "I understood
from Mr. Dimsdale himself that his daughter was in love with
Constantine."
"She was; she seemed to be quite crazy about him, but that was before
the terrible death of her father two months ago. Since then she has
shut herself up with Miss Hest at 'Rangoon,' and when Constantine has
seen her, she has been quite different. She loves him no longer, and
as good as told the poor boy so. It nearly broke his heart."
"I don't think Constantine's heart is so easily broken," said Vernon
grimly, and relapsed into silence. It struck him as strange that Ida
should cease to love the handsome scamp, considering how infatuated
she had been with him for months. But, if things were as Mrs. Bedge
stated, there was a chance that Colonel Towton's warm devotion would
be appreciated; there was also the chance--and Vernon winced when he
thought of it--that, having no opportunity of marrying Ida, the
pleasure-loving Maunders would prosecute his wooing of Miss Corsoon
with renewed vigour; in which case, and in spite of Lucy's pronounced
liking for him, Vernon thought dismally that there would be little
likelihood of his own success. A more dangerous rival than Maunders,
when he really put his heart into love-making, can scarcely be
imagined. Mrs. Bedge broke in upon these meditations.
"And what we have been speaking about brings me to the reason why I
asked you to come and see me," she said, smoothing her dress and
arranging the old-fashioned bracelets she wore. "You see, as I tell
you, I am not rich, and as I have informed you, Ida does not love
Constantine as she used to. Now, I want you to consider if it could
possibly be arranged that I could become Ida's companion."
Vernon started with astonishment. He did not think that Mrs. Bedge
would prove a very cheerful companion to a young girl, and moreover it
seemed strange that, at her age, she should wish for such a position.
She must be poor indeed, and considering how Constantine had drained
her, this was scarcely to be wondered at. "Miss Hest acts more or less
as Miss Dimsdale's companion," remarked Vernon with some hesitation.
"I think she is a most dangerous woman," said Mrs. Bedge, a warm
colour flushing her faded cheeks; "she is a public reciter. I may be
old-fashioned, but I do not think it is right that a young girl like
Ida should be so friendly with a woman who appears on the stage."
Vernon laughed at this echo of early Victorian prudery.
"Miss Hest only recites at concerts and 'At Homes,'" He explained;
"she can scarcely be called an actress."
"I look upon her as such," said Mrs. Bedge primly. "I have known Ida
for years: when her father was in Burmah he sent her to school in
England, and she always spent her holidays with me. That is how
Constantine came to fall in love with her. It has been the dream of my
life to see them married, especially as Ida is rich and needs a man to
look after her money. I wish to become Ida's companion, not only
because I am one of her oldest friends and need to supplement my
income, but because I hope to influence her again in my boy's favour."
"I understand." Vernon smiled quietly as he thought that if Maunders
looked after Ida's money there would be little of it left in a few
years. But he quite understood, as he had acknowledged, the
affectionate scheme of the fond old woman, who was a slave to her
adopted son. "I can scarcely advise you, Mrs. Bedge. Miss Hest is a
lady--there can be no doubt on that point--and her character is above
reproach; also, she is clever and strong-minded, the kind of companion
Miss Dimsdale wants. For I should not think," he added after a pause,
"that Miss Dimsdale was capable of managing her large fortune. I have
seen very little of her since the funeral. I suppose the will was
proved and she is in possession of her money?"
"There was no will," said Mrs. Bedge unexpectedly. "Constantine
learned that from Ida herself. She merely inherited as next of
kin, which is the same thing. Why poor Martin--I call Mr. Dimsdale,
Martin, because I knew him for years and years," she explained in
parentheses--"why poor Martin never made a will I can't say, but he
did not."
"Strange," reflected Vernon musingly; "so business-like a man would
certainly have made a will, I should have thought. However, as Miss
Dimsdale has inherited as next-of-kin it doesn't matter; failing her,
the money, I presume, would have gone to Lady Corsoon?"
"Certainly; but Ida, as a daughter of poor Martin, takes precedence of
Julia as the sister. But think of all that money, Mr. Vernon, being at
the mercy of an adventuress like Miss Hest."
"I don't think she is an adventuress, Mrs. Bedge, and I can't see how
the money is at her mercy."
"I see it very plainly," said Mrs. Bedge with asperity. "Miss Hest has
a most extraordinary influence over Ida, and not a healthy one, since
she has permitted her to shut herself up for weeks."
"The natural grief of Miss Dimsdale----"
"There are bounds to grief," interrupted the old lady sharply, "and the
young recover from sorrow quicker than do the aged. Poor Martin was a
good father, and Ida does right to mourn him; but not to the
ridiculous extent of shutting herself up for two months with that
woman."
"You don't seem to like Miss Hest."
"No, I don't. Oh, I haven't a word to say against her character. I
daresay she is a lady and perfectly correct in her behaviour: but she
is not the companion for Ida. Besides, she comes and goes from
'Rangoon' at her will, and is not a regular companion, such as the
girl should have. Miss Hest, so Constantine tells me, lives at
Isleworth with a horrid old retired actor and his wife."
"Professor Garrick Gail. Yes; she told me that herself."
"So brazen," sniffed Mrs. Bedge, more prim than ever; "it's not right,
I tell you, Mr. Vernon. Someone should interfere."
"No one can, Mrs. Bedge. Miss Dimsdale is her own mistress, being over
age, and has her own money. She has a right to live as she pleases."
"Not in my opinion, Mr. Vernon; it's not respectable. Could you not
see her and suggest that she should sell or let, 'Rangoon' and come
here to live with me as her paid companion? Also, she could help to
keep up this house."
Vernon almost laughed, so selfish was the proposition, and thought it
very unlikely that Ida would surrender the charming residence of
"Rangoon" and the intellectual society of Miss Hest, to shut herself
up with a buckram old dame in a stuffy, second-rate dwelling. "I am
not intimate enough with Miss Dimsdale to suggest such a thing."
"But you are searching for the assassin of her father," persisted Mrs.
Bedge with the dogged obstinacy of age; "out of gratitude she should
adopt your suggestion. Besides, you would be glad to see your old
schoolfellow Constantine settled for life."
It was on Vernon's lips to say that he would be sorry to see any
woman, let alone Ida Dimsdale, tied to a selfish creature like Mr.
Maunders, but out of pity for the infatuated old lady he refrained.
Besides, since she believed Constantine to be an angel, no one would
ever be able to argue her out of that fancy. "Other people are
searching for The Spider also," he said gently, "so Miss Dimsdale has
no particular reason to show me any gratitude, especially as she has
offered the reward of one thousand pounds."
"I know. Constantine is trying to earn it."
"The deuce he is?" sprang from Vernon's lips.
Mrs. Bedge drew up her spare form and folded her hands. "I do not like
slang, Mr. Vernon." Then, when he apologised, she continued:
"Constantine wants to earn the money, and also, if he catches The
Spider, Ida will surely marry him out of sheer gratitude."
"I think he has a stronger reason to catch The Spider," said Vernon
drily.
Mrs. Bedge coloured and looked aside. "I guess what you mean, as I
asked poor Martin to speak to you on the subject of that attempted
blackmail. It was scandalous, was it not? However, I have heard no
more from the wicked creature, and I don't think I shall. After
committing this crime, it is not likely that The Spider will dare to
continue in his wickedness."
"Well," said Vernon, standing up to take his leave. "I certainly have
not heard of anyone being blackmailed lately. Perhaps The Spider
thinks that he has gone too far, and is afraid. I suggested myself to
Constantine that he should capture The Spider if he wished to become
my partner in--that is," broke off Vernon in some confusion, "he
might----"
"I understand," said Mrs. Bedge quietly; "I know that you are Nemo.
Poor Martin revealed your private business when he suggested that he
should consult you about The Spider's attempt to blackmail me. But you
can be perfectly satisfied. I shall not betray your secret, having,"
she smiled faintly, "one of my own."
He looked at her inquiringly. "I don't understand."
"I refer to the accusation The Spider brought against me," went on
Mrs. Bedge, her eyes glittering feverishly and her breath coming and
going in gasps. "Oh, it was shameful that a man should dare to accuse
me of immorality--yes, there is no need for us to mince words, Mr.
Vernon--of immorality. Why, the only man I ever loved was Martin
himself. Then he went to India and I was worried by my family into
marrying Mr. Bedge; my sister married his partner, Constantine
Mavrocordato."
"Maunders, I understood the name was."
"That was the English name he took, and that is why his son--my
adopted boy, but really my nephew--comes to be called so. I never
liked Mavrocordato, and to think that this Spider should accuse
me--me----" She clenched her thin hand and all the primness fled. She
was no longer a precise old lady of a precise epoch, but an angry and
insulted woman. "If I could find this man, Mr. Vernon, I should strike
him across the lips. I urged Constantine to hunt him down, both to
gain the gratitude of Ida by punishing the murderer of her father and
because I wish The Spider to be punished for the insult he put upon
me. Should you find him, Mr. Vernon, don't spare him."
"I can promise you that," said Vernon very grimly, for the decoying
still rankled in his breast. "Still, as yet we can find out nothing
about him. If he blackmails you again, let me know. Then we can
arrange a trap."
"So that I may be murdered like poor Martin. No, thank you."
"I'll see that such a thing doesn't occur a second time. But I fancy
you can set your mind at rest, Mrs. Bedge. The Spider is too much
wanted for him to continue his little games: the risk is too great. I
daresay he'll turn his attention to America or to the Colonies."
Mrs. Bedge followed him to the door. "Then you think that he has left
England?" she inquired eagerly.
"I don't think so; I think--well, I scarcely know what to think. Leave
things as they are, Mrs. Bedge, and sooner or later I hope to capture
the rascal. Now I must leave you."
"Will you see Ida and suggest my scheme to be her companion?"
"I don't know her well enough to suggest it bluntly. But I shall see
her some day and hint at your idea."
"And please keep your eye on Constantine. I fear he is ruining his
health with society."
"I see very little of Constantine, Mrs. Bedge, and I fear he would not
take any well-meant advice I might offer him."
Finally he got away from the prim house, although Mrs. Bedge was
anxious to keep him in conversation. When on the Heath, breathing the
widely-blown air, he drew a long breath to refresh his lungs. He did
not wonder that Maunders remained as little as possible in that tomb,
for it was nothing else. To a pleasure-loving, lively young man,
accustomed to be petted by pretty women and welcomed by monied men,
the society of his aunt and the atmosphere of her stuffy house would
naturally be abhorrent. And Constantine was not the individual likely
to deny himself a merry life for the sake of attending on the woman to
whom he owed so much. He had absolutely no idea of the meaning of the
word "gratitude." Most people--and Maunders was one of them--do not
know that there is such a word in the dictionaries.
Walking along musingly, Vernon remembered how Dimsdale had spoken of
Emily Bedge, and how he also had stated, as she had done, that they
were in love when young. Now Dimsdale was dead, and the girl he had so
admired was a faded old woman, cherishing a foolish affection for one
who would never return the same, and who had no intention of returning
it. Considering the lonely life and sad history and dismal present
position of Mrs. Bedge, the young man began to think that, after all,
it would be a charity to persuade Ida Dimsdale to take her as a
companion. In the society of the girl Mrs. Bedge might grow youthful
again. Of course, her presence might be dangerous, as she would
certainly do her best to persuade Ida into marrying Constantine, and
assuredly the infatuation of Ida might revive. Vernon wondered how it
had died away, and what causes had been at work to make Ida regard
with indifference the handsome face of the scamp. From the hint given
by Mrs. Bedge, he began to believe that this was the work of Miss
Hest. If so, it was no wonder that the old woman spoke ill of her. Of
course, Mrs. Bedge was biassed, for Vernon himself believed Frances
Hest to be a clever, capable woman, who was likely to prove a tower of
strength to Ida, since the girl's character, although sweet, was not
particularly firm. But then there was always the chance that Miss Hest
might become a tyrant.
Thinking in this way, Vernon suddenly stumbled against a man coming
from the opposite direction, also deep in thought. They looked up with
a mutual apology and both burst out laughing. The newcomer was Colonel
Towton, and he explained himself as they shook hands.
"I have just been to see Miss Dimsdale," said the Colonel crisply,
"and she gave me so much to think about that I was in a brown study."
"And I have come from Mrs. Bedge, who also made me think," observed
Vernon with a smile, "hence I ran into you. Where are you going,
Colonel?"
"Back to town," said the military man promptly, "but I am walking. I
always walk as much as possible in London for the sake of necessary
exercise. Perhaps you would rather drive?"
"No. I prefer to walk. I am glad to have met you, Towton, as I wished
to speak with you privately."
"Curious," said the Colonel, screwing his glass into his eye. "I had
you in my mind when I ran into you. Let us walk down the hill and
talk: there is more privacy in the open air than anywhere else. Well?"
"Well," echoed Vernon, as they turned their faces towards London,
"what do you wish to say?"
"I'll come to the point circuitously," retorted the Colonel smartly.
"So you have been to see Mrs. Bedge? Poor old Dimsdale told me about
her. My rival's aunt, I believe?"
"Yes. A quaint old lady of the Albert period."
Towton shuddered. "I know the style, Vernon. Stiff and prudish and
dowdy. H'm! rather a contrast to our young friend. He's devilish
handsome and infernally modern. I suppose the old lady gives him
plenty of money: he always seems to be in the forefront of things. Yet
I don't like him somehow: his voice doesn't ring true; but there,
perhaps I am prejudiced, since he courts Miss Dimsdale. I'm a man, and
not a saint, so I feel jealous."
"You have no need to be, Colonel."
"Eh! what?" The Colonel stopped abruptly and his eyes sparkled. "Do
you mean to say that he has ceased to court Miss Dimsdale? Well,
well," he went on, without waiting for a reply, "I shouldn't wonder. I
might have guessed as much, for three or four times I have been to the
Corsoons, and Maunders was always there, making furious love to that
pretty Lucy of theirs. You had better look after her, if you intend to
make her your wife, Vernon."
"Lady Corsoon always receives me so coldly, that I scarcely dare
call," confessed the young man dismally. "I daresay Maunders has put a
spoke in my wheel in that quarter."
"Yes; but, hang it, he can't mean to marry both girls?"
"You forget what I hinted just now, Towton. Mrs. Bedge assured me, and
with great grief, as she wants the marriage to take place, that Miss
Dimsdale has ceased to care for her nephew."
Only military self-control prevented the Colonel from throwing his
tall hat in the air. "I thought she was kinder to me to-day," he said
jubilantly, "and she never mentioned Maunders' name, now I think of
it. Do you believe that I have a chance, Vernon?"
"A better one than ever you had," replied Vernon heartily, "and you
may be sure I shall endeavour to aid you in every way. But, by the
way, how is Miss Dimsdale? I have seen her only once since the burial
of her father, and, of course, then she was overcome with grief."
Towton thought for a moment before replying. "To tell you the truth,
Vernon, I don't think that dark-browed young woman is a good companion
for her in any way."
"Why not?" Vernon was rather struck that Mrs. Bedge and the Colonel
should unknowingly agree on this point. "She is clever?"
"Oh, I daresay, and, if you ask me, a sight too clever," grumbled the
Colonel, shouldering his thin umbrella like a gun. "Ida--well, I can
call her Ida to you, since we have become so friendly--Ida is a
charming girl, but not strong-minded. I shouldn't seek her for my wife
if she were, as I hate masterful women. Miss Hest is of that sort, and
she seems to have too much control over Ida. In fact--I may be wrong,
and I wouldn't say this to anyone but yourself--but it's a kind of
hypnotism."
"H'm. Do you remember what the Concini woman said about her supposed
magical influence over Marie de Medici: that she only used the
influence of a strong mind over a weak one?"
"Oh, I don't think Ida is weak-minded," said the Colonel hastily; "she
is a sweet, loving, delightful girl, who would make any man happy. But
Miss Hest is what I call a cat: yes, an amiable cat, so long as things
go to her liking, but I'm sure she could show her claws if necessary."
"Does she support Maunders?"
"She supports no one but herself. It seems to me that she finds that
the reciting doesn't pay, and so hopes to become Ida's companion for
life. If Ida married she'd be nowhere. I fancy for that reason she
wishes to keep Ida single, and so doesn't countenance either Maunders
or myself."
Vernon mused. He remembered how he had fancied that Miss Hest might
have been the person to undermine Maunders' chances. Now Towton was
saying the same thing. However, he said nothing, while the Colonel,
walking and talking vigorously, continued his speech.
"Besides," said Towton, "there's a queer strain in the family. Gerby
Hall, where the brother lives, is three miles from my place. Brother
and sister are twins and exactly like one another, but they don't hit
it off together. Gerby Hall is supposed to be haunted, and people
think the Hests to be mad, or queer, or--the deuce knows what."
"Frances Hest doesn't seem to be mad," said Vernon drily.
"Well, I don't know. Her head seems to be screwed on all right, but
she believes in occultism and all that sort of thing. Her influence is
unhealthy, for she induced Ida to go to Diabella, who----"
Vernon nodded. "I know. Diabella is a fortune-teller in Bond Street
and is supposed to be very clever. What did she tell Miss Dimsdale?"
"Ah, that I couldn't find out. But it made her ill; gave her a
headache or something. Ida said very little; seemed averse to speaking
about her visit, and Miss Hest supplied all the information. She was
full of the wonderful things which Diabella had told Ida."
"What wonderful things?"
"I can't say. I told you that Ida refused to speak about the matter.
But I intend to find out something about this Diabella, and therefore
I am going to call on her. I have an appointment in three days."
"She'll tell you nothing about Miss Dimsdale."
"Of course not. But I shall be able to see what kind of a woman she
is. I don't want Ida to get under another bad influence. That of Miss
Hest is quite enough. I am clever enough to read this Diabella's
character, and if possible, I shall try and prevent Ida from seeing
her again."
"It's just as well. Tell me what you hear from this fortune-teller."
Towton shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, it will be the same old rubbish
about love and money and marriage. I don't believe in these mercenary
occult people myself, although I have every faith in the genuine sort
I have met with in India. Now, one of those, Vernon, would soon spot
this damned Spider."
"Why not ask Diabella?"
"I shall do so. Gad! it's an idea. But, then, I don't think occultists
who take money are the real truth-tellers. However, it can do no harm
asking her, so I shall do so. By the way, Vernon, have you heard if
the police have stumbled on the track of that rogue?"
"Not yet. Drench tells me that nothing has been discovered. I am
trying to hunt him down myself."
"You? Pooh! Pooh! Pooh!" said Towton good-humouredly. "Why, it needs a
trained man to do that. The Spider is as clever as the devil, hang
him. To think that I was at the ball, and in the next room, when our
poor old friend was being-strangled by that beast. I tell you what,
sir, the strangling put me in mind of the Thugs."
"What do you mean?" asked Vernon quickly.
"It's only an idea. But this Spider strangled the old man so cleverly
and so quietly that I wondered if he was some nigger who had known
Dimsdale in India or Burmah and so had learned his secret, whatever it
might be."
"It's a queer way of looking at it," murmured Vernon thoughtfully,
"and Dimsdale's secret has to do with the East, I fancy. There may be
something in what you say. I'll think it over."
"Do," said Towton cordially, "and I'll come to your rooms to report on
my proposed interview with this Bond Street Witch of Endor."
On this understanding they parted, having had a most interesting
conversation on important subjects.
"There may be something in Towton's idea," thought Vernon.