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As we walked back to the hotel I asked Quarles why he had not suggested that Henley might be in love with Miss Day instead of Miss Travers. "My dear Wigan, you have yourself said she is undoubtedly a lady. Can you imagine her allowing a man like the dead man to have anything to do with her?" "Circumstances have thrown them into each other's company," I answered.
Quarles had never been more the benevolent old gentleman than when he saw the French maid next day. He began by telling her that he was certain she was innocent, that he believed in her just as much as her mistress did. "Now, when did you last see the pearls?" Quarles asked. "The day before they were stolen." "Your mistress was wearing them?" "No, monsieur, but the case was on the dressing table.
"Ah, that is the question," said Quarles. "I have my doubts." "She is safer dead, at any rate, if only half they say of her is true," Forbes returned. "How came she to sit for you?" I asked. "Vanity. I was introduced to her one night at an Artists' Ball the Albert Hall affair, you know and I told her she had the figure of a Venus. I was consciously playing on her vanity for a purpose.
There are those who think that, if mere concettism be a part of poetry, Quarles is as great a poet as Cowley or George Herbert, Vaughan or Withers. On this question, and on the real worth of the seventeenth century lyrists, a great deal has to be said hereafter.
"No, sir, but I was not in the entrance hall at the time from eight to nine. It is usually a slack time with me." "I did not mean then," said Quarles. "I meant at any time during the day." "I do not remember a lady calling on Mr. Bridwell at anytime." It was early morning when the professor and I left Duke's Mansions. "There are two obvious things to do, Wigan," said Quarles.
One of the best-known episodes, again, that of Argalus and Parthenia, was versified by Quarles in 1632, and, adorned with a series of cuts, went through a large number of editions before the end of the century, besides being dramatized by Glapthorne.
"Not now," he directed; "you'll come downstairs with me. We must have help at once and your daughter quiet." However he was in a quandary he couldn't trust the woman here, he would have to go immediately for assistance, and yet it was impossible to leave Nettie Vollar and Gerrit's wife alone. "You will have to wait in the room," he decided, turning to Quarles.
So I went through the facts again. "I made a careful study of the house and garden," I went on. "The Lodge is a corner house, the garden is small, and a garage with an opening into the other road Connaught Road has been built there. A 'Napier' car was in the garage." "Did you see the chauffeur?" asked Quarles. "Yes. The car had not been used for a week.
"I am trying to wriggle some of these knots loose." "That's right," said Quarles, "When you are free you can undo me. My dear Wigan, it is the fact that we are in this cellar which makes these deductions so interesting. The chalice was stolen for the sake of the jewels, that is evident, or the thief would have taken the gold paten as well; and the jewels have a romance attached to them.
In these rhyming efforts, scattered up and down his Journal, there are occasional sparkles of genuine wit, and passages of keen sarcasm, tersely and fitly expressed. Others breathe a warm, devotional feeling; in the following brief prayer, for instance, the wants of the humble Christian are condensed in a manner worthy of Quarles or Herbert:
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