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Updated: June 8, 2025
Chichester sprang to his feet, opened the casement and stepped into the room. For a long moment neither spoke, while eyes met and questioned eyes, those of Barnabas wide and bright, Mr. Chichester's narrowed to shining slits.
It seemed that Sir Chichester's harmless little foible had suddenly received more than its due punishment. The newspaper slipped from his fingers on to the floor, whilst he sat staring at the white tablecloth in front of him. But no sooner did Harold Jupp at his side make a movement to pick the paper up than Sir Chichester swooped down upon it in a flash. "No!" he said.
"Yes," said Lady Splay. "Whilst they were waiting for the news from France, which did not come, they rang you up from the Harpoon office. Yes: they rang up Rackham Park." Harry Luttrell snatched up the letter once more from the table. Yes, there across the left-hand corner was printed Sir Chichester's telephone number and the district exchange. "They were answered by a woman.
And, meanwhile, the invalids, who, at Doctor Chichester's suggestion, had been spared all labour, had completely recovered from their sickness, and were as well and strong again as ever.
A dry aggressiveness informed him, and his voice had a rasping timbre as he continued: "But I decline to take leaps in the dark like " Here he mentioned a well-known man of science "and I decline to reject evidence like " Here he named a professor even more famous. The mention of the last name evidently excited Chichester's curiosity. "What evidence has he rejected?" he exclaimed.
Harding's perturbation lay in Chichester's mental attitude, that he longed to spring up, to take the curate by the shoulders and to thrust him out of the church. Then all would be well. He knew it. The rector's self-confidence would return and, with it, his natural powers. But now the situation was becoming painful, almost unbearable.
Chichester's long, white fingers writhed suddenly upon the bell-rope, released it, and, lifting his hand swiftly, he loosened his high cravat, and so stood, breathing heavily, his eyes once more narrowed to shining slits, and with the scar burning redly upon his cheek. "So you have dared," he began thickly, "you have dared to interfere again? You have dared to come here, to tell me so?"
"Have you just begun tea?" he asked, looking now at his wife. "We are just going to begin it," she replied. "We are talking about the sermon of last Sunday." "Oh," rejoined the rector. He turned to Malling. "Did you come to hear me preach again?" There was a note as of slight reassurance in his voice. "Mr. Chichester's sermon," said Lady Sophia. "Oh, I see," said the rector.
Malling felt that he could do nothing now but wait. He waited. Now and then rumors reached him of Marcus Harding's fading powers, now and then he heard people discussing one of Henry Chichester's "remarkable sermons," now and then in society some feminine gossip murmuring that "Sophia Harding seems to be perfectly sick of that husband of hers.
She was lying, of course! Hillyard had not a doubt of it. Jenny Prask was the malevolent force of which he was in search. So much had, at all events, sprung clear from Sir Chichester's blunderings. And some hint, too, of the plan which malevolence had formed not more than a hint! That Jenny Prask intended to sustain a charge of murder Martin did not believe.
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