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Updated: May 24, 2025
Biffen looked with some concern at his friend, so unwonted was a sally of this kind. 'Why is a London lodging-house ? Haven't the least idea. 'Because the brains are always at the top. Not bad, I think, eh? 'Well, no; it'll pass. Distinctly professional though. The general public would fail to see the point, I'm afraid. But what has come to you? 'Good tidings.
There was poor Allen, who lost the most valuable opportunity of his life because he hadn't a clean shirt to put on; and Williamson, who would probably have married that rich girl but for the grain of dust that got into his eye, and made him unable to say or do anything at the critical moment. Reardon burst into a roar of laughter. 'There you are! cried Biffen, with friendly annoyance.
Hastily he ran his eye over the columns, and found at length a short paragraph which stated that the body of a man who had evidently committed suicide by taking poison had been found on Putney Heath; that papers in his pockets identified him as one Harold Biffen, lately resident in Goodge Street, Tottenham Court Road; and that an inquest would be held, &c.
This lodging spoke more distinctly of civilisation than that inhabited by Biffen; it contained the minimum supply of furniture needed to give it somewhat the appearance of a study, but the articles were in good condition. One end of the room was concealed by a chintz curtain; scrutiny would have discovered behind the draping the essential equipments of a bedchamber.
At eight o'clock in the evening there remained half a page to be written. Biffen had already worked about nine hours, and on breaking off to appease his hunger he doubted whether to finish to-night or to postpone the last lines till tomorrow.
Biffen doesn't talk very freely about it; there's a good deal of delicacy in Biffen, you know. A thoroughly good-hearted fellow. And so is Reardon, I believe, though no doubt he has his weaknesses. 'Oh, an excellent fellow! But weakness isn't the word. Why, I foresaw all this from the very beginning. The first hour's talk I ever had with him was enough to convince me that he'd never hold his own.
'I shall never go with you to Greece, he said distinctly. There was silence again. Biffen did not move his eyes from the deathly mask; in a minute or two he saw a smile soften its lineaments, and Reardon again spoke: 'How often you and I have quoted it! "We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our "
It was from his wife, and ran thus: 'Willie is ill of diphtheria. Please come to us at once. I am staying with Mrs Carter, at her mother's, at Brighton. The full address was given. 'You hadn't heard of her going there? said Biffen, when he had read the lines. 'No. I haven't seen Carter for several days, or perhaps he would have told me. Brighton, at this time of year?
'Why, I 'spect it's Mr Briggs, replied the woman, indulgently. 'Don't you mind him, Mr Biffen. There's no 'arm: he's only had a little too much. I'll go up an' make him go to bed as soon as I've got my 'ands clean. 'The necessity for waiting till then isn't obvious, remarked the realist with a chuckle, and went his way.
'Night, Biffen. 'Good-night, sir. Arrived at the Babe's residence, they rang the bell, and, in the interval of waiting for the door to be opened, listened with envy to certain sounds of revelry which filtered through the windows of a room to the right of the porch. 'The Babe seems to be making a night of it, said Charteris. 'Oh' as the servant opened the door 'can we see Mr MacArthur, please?
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