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Updated: May 12, 2025
And, as far as the charge against him at Blocksby's went, the evidence of the young Jew would have gone to prove that he was at Isaacs', where he had no business to be, when we saw him at Blocksby's. But, unhappily, each alibi would have been almost equally compromising.
That fellow from Blocksby's tells me that the Longepierre Theocritus disappeared yesterday afternoon; that I was the last person in whose hand it was seen, and that not only the man who always attends in the room but Lord Tarras and Mr. Wentworth, saw it in my hands just before it was missed." "What a nuisance!" I answered.
"Oh, it's quite impossible," Allen answered; "I was far enough away from Blocksby's at a quarter to four." "That's all right," I said. "Of course you can prove that; if it is necessary; though I dare say the book has fallen behind a row of others, and has been found by this time. Where were you at a quarter to four?"
I happen to know, and unluckily did it happen, the very minute of the hour when we left Blocksby's. It was a quarter to four o'clock a church- tower was chiming the three-quarters in the Strand, and I looked half mechanically at my own watch, which was five minutes fast. On Sunday I went down to Oxford, and happened to walk into Allen's rooms. He was lying on a sofa reading the "Spectator."
The true account of Allen's appearance, or apparition, at Blocksby's, when I and Tarras, Wentworth and the attendant recognised him, and Miss Breton did not, is thus part of the History of the Unexplained. Allen might have appealed to precedents in the annals of the Psychical Society, where they exist in scores, and are technically styled "collective hallucinations."
Then Allen would have been in a, perhaps, unprecedented position. He could have established an alibi, as far as the Jew's affairs went, by proving that he had been at Blocksby's at the hour when the boy would truthfully have sworn that he had let him into Isaacs' chambers.
I went up to town to scribble; Allen stayed on at Oxford. One day I chanced to go into Blocksby's rooms; it was a Friday, I remember there was to be a great sale on the Monday. There I met Allen in ecstasies over one of the books displayed in the little side room on the right hand of the sale- room.
After chatting a little, I said, "You took no notice of me, nor of the Bretons yesterday, Allen, at Blocksby's." "I didn't see you," he said; and as he was speaking there came a knock at the door. "Come in!" cried Allen, and a man entered who was a stranger to me. You would not have called him a gentleman perhaps. However, I admit that I am possibly no great judge of a gentleman. Allen looked up.
Next time I met Miss Breton I told her the story, and said, "You remember how we saw Allen, at Blocksby's, just as we were going away?" "No," she said, "I did not see him; where was he?" "Then why did you smile don't you remember? I looked at him and at you, and I thought you smiled!" "Because well, I suppose because you smiled," she said. And the subject of the conversation was changed.
"Hullo, Mr. Thomas," he said, "have you come up to see Mr. Mortby?" mentioning a well-known Oxford bibliophile. "Wharton," he went on, addressing me, "this is Mr. Thomas from Blocksby's." I bowed. Mr. Thomas seemed embarrassed. "Can I have a word alone with you, sir?" he murmured to Allen. "Certainly," answered Allen, looking rather surprised. "You'll excuse me a moment, Wharton," he said to me.
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