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"I thought you did not care so much as you did," she said. "And when you stopped these walks nothing seemed to matter. Besides it is not like séances with spirits ..." At first Lewisham was passionate and forcible. His anger at Lagune and Chaffery blinded him to her turpitude. He talked her defences down. "It is cheating," he said.
"Why argue about it," said Chaffery gaily, pointing a lean finger at Ethel's gesture, "when she has 'em in her pocket? She may just as well show me now. I thought so. Don't be alarmed at my handling them. Fresh copies can always be got at the nominal price of two-and-seven. Thank you ... Lewisham, George Edgar. One-and-twenty. And ... You one-and-twenty!
"Was much ... pressure necessary?" asked Lewisham by an effort. "We had considerable difficulty. Considerable. But of course as I pointed out to her it was scarcely possible for her to continue as my typewriter unless she was disposed to take an interest in my investigations " "You did that?" "Had to. Fortunately Chaffery it was his idea. I must admit " Lagune stopped astonished.
Smithers, had he only known it, had been overthrown by a better brain than Lagune's, albeit it spoke through Lagune's treble. Ethel did not like talking of Chaffery and these other things. "If you knew how sweet it was to forget it all," she would say; "to be just us two together for a little while." And, "What good does it do to keep on?" when Lewisham was pressing.
That descent had a distinctly depressing effect upon Lewisham. He went first. He took a deep breath at the door. What on earth was Chaffery going to say? Not that he cared, of course. Chaffery was standing with his back to the fire, trimming his finger-nails with a pocket-knife.
On the doorstep Chaffery regarded Lewisham with the same curious look, and seemed to weigh some remark. "Good-bye," he said at last with something in his manner that kept Lewisham at the door for a moment looking after his stepfather's receding figure. But immediately the roses were uppermost again.
Lewisham were seated facing one another, and Mrs. Chaffery sat in the broken chair because she understood its ways. "This cheese is as nutritious and unattractive and indigestible as Science," remarked Chaffery, cutting and passing wedges.
Chaffery had induced Lagune when hypnotised to sign a blank cheque as an "autograph." "The strange thing is," explained Lagune, "it's doubtful if he's legally accountable. The law is so peculiar about hypnotism and I certainly signed the cheque, you know." The little man, in spite of his losses, was now almost cheerful again on account of a curious side issue.
"It makes me think of Sludge the Medium," she said. He made no answer. She glanced at him suddenly. "Have you read Sludge the Medium?" "Eigh?" he said, coming back out of infinity. "What? I beg your pardon. Sludge, the Medium? I thought his name was it was Chaffery." He looked at her, clearly very anxious upon this question of fact. "But I mean Browning's 'Sludge. You know the poem."
Only a little while ago I was speaking to that man Chaffery about her." "Were you?" "Yes. He of course would like to see any latent powers developed. But it's a little difficult to begin, you know." "You mean she won't?" "Not at present. She is a good girl, but in this matter she is timid. There is often a sort of disinclination a queer sort of feeling one might almost call it modesty."
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