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"Tell her to go away." I did. Then I could hear a curious pattering upon the door, almost like some one feeling for the handle in the dark, and Pyecraft's familiar grunts. "It's all right," I said, "she's gone." But for a long time the door didn't open. I heard the key turn. Then Pyecraft's voice said, "Come in." I turned the handle and opened the door. Naturally I expected to see Pyecraft.
Poor old Pyecraft! He has just gonged, no doubt to order another buttered tea-cake! He came to the actual thing one day. "Our Pharmacopoeia," he said, "our Western Pharmacopoeia, is anything but the last word of medical science. In the East, I've been told " He stopped and stared at me. It was like being at an aquarium. I was quite suddenly angry with him.
Whether one regards the ingredients or the probable compound or the possible results, almost all of my great-grandmother's remedies appear to me at least to be extraordinarily uninviting. For my own part "I took a little sip first." "Yes?" "And as I felt lighter and better after an hour, I decided to take the draught." "My dear Pyecraft!" "I held my nose," he explained.
Well, you know, he wasn't there! I never had such a shock in my life. There was his sitting-room in a state of untidy disorder, plates and dishes among the books and writing things, and several chairs overturned, but Pyecraft "It's all right, old man; shut the door," he said, and then I discovered him.
I must confess the poisoning of Pyecraft struck me as an immense undertaking. That evening I took that queer, odd-scented sandal-wood box out of my safe, and turned the rustling skins over. The gentleman who wrote the recipes for my great-grandmother evidently had a weakness for skins of a miscellaneous origin, and his handwriting was cramped to the last degree.
I must confess the poisoning of Pyecraft struck me as an immense undertaking. That evening I took that queer, odd-scented sandalwood box out of my safe and turned the rustling skins over. The gentleman who wrote the recipes for my great-grandmother evidently had a weakness for skins of a miscellaneous origin, and his handwriting was cramped to the last degree.
"Even the smell of 'em.... No!" But after going so far Pyecraft was resolved I should go farther. I was always a little afraid if I tried his patience too much he would fall on me suddenly and smother me. I own I was weak. But I was also annoyed with Pyecraft. I had got to that state of feeling for him that disposed me to say, "Well, TAKE the risk!"
There he was, right up close to the cornice in the corner by the door, as though some one had glued him to the ceiling. His face was anxious and angry. He panted and gesticulated. "Shut the door," he said. "If that woman gets hold of it " I shut the door, and went and stood away from him and stared. "If anything gives way and you tumble down," I said, "you'll break your neck, Pyecraft."
Formalyn!" bawled a page-boy under my nose, and I took the telegram and opened it at once. "For Heaven's sake come. Pyecraft." "H'm," said I, and to tell the truth I was so pleased at the rehabilitation of my great grandmother's reputation this evidently promised that I made a most excellent lunch. I got Pyecraft's address from the hall porter.
And now to elude Pyecraft, occupying, as he does, an admirable strategic position between me and the door. "There's a man in that shop," said the Doctor, "who has been in Fairyland." "Nonsense!" I said, and stared back at the shop. It was the usual village shop, post-office, telegraph wire on its brow, zinc pans and brushes outside, boots, shirtings, and potted meats in the window.
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