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He constrained himself not to commit the crowning folly of seeking out Mrs Manderson's house in Hampstead; he could not enter it, and the thought of the possibility of being seen by her lurking in its neighbourhood brought the blood to his face. He stayed at an hotel, took a studio, and while he awaited Mr Cupples's return attempted vainly to lose himself in work.
A gentle smile illuminated Mr Cupples's face. 'You must not suspect me of empty paradox, he said. 'My meaning will become clearer, perhaps, if I mention some things which do appear to me essentially remarkable. Let me see .... Well, I would call the life history of the liver-fluke, which we owe to the researches of Poulton, an essentially remarkable thing.
As he grew better, his former grief did draw nearer, but such was the freshness of his new life, that he seemed to have died and risen again like Lazarus, leaving his sorrow behind him in the grave, to be communed with only in those dim seasons when ghosts walk. One evening over their supper, he was opposing Mr Cupples's departure for the twentieth time.
He had before now, although Mr Cupples had never become aware of the fact, partaken of the usual source of Scotch exhilaration, and had felt nothing the worse; and now heedless of Mr Cupples's elaborate warning how could he be expected to mind it? he mixed himself a tumbler eagerly.
Two pale-faced creatures they sat there, in Mr Cupples's garret, looking wretched and subdued enough, although occasionally they broke out laughing, as the sparks of life revived and flickered into merriment. Inquiring after Miss Fraser, Alec learned that she was ill. The maid inquired in return if he knew anything about Mr Beauchamp.
'Suppose we have the story first, Trent interrupted, gently laying a hand on Mr Cupples's arm. 'You were telling us, he went on, turning to Marlowe, 'how things stood between you and Manderson. Now you tell us the facts of what happened that night? Marlowe flushed at the barely perceptible emphasis which Trent laid upon the word 'facts'. He drew himself up.
'But the way in which he uttered them gave me a strange and very apprehensive feeling. I received the impression that the man had formed some sinister resolve. But I regret to say I had lost the power of dispassionate thought. I fell into a great rage' Mr. Cupples's tone was mildly apologetic 'and said a number of foolish things.
The moment he had succeeded in satisfying his landlady's inquisition, he rushed up to Mr Cupples's room. Mr Cupples was out. What was Alec to do? He could not call on Mr Fraser that night; and all space between him and Kate growing more immeasurable the nearer he came to her, he could not rest for the feeling of distance. So he wandered out, and along the sea-shore till under the wall of the pier.
He sprang up the sand before him, and, sliding back at every step, gained the top with difficulty, and ran across the links towards the city. The exercise pumped the blood more rapidly through his brain, and before he reached home hope had begun to dawn. He ascended the garret-stairs, and again knocked at Mr Cupples's door. "Come in," reached his ear in a strange dull tone.
Clint smiled uncertainly. "I reckon I'm not a fair judge," he replied after a moment's hesitation. "I suppose not. But tell me, can you play tackle pretty well?" "I've got along all right so far, I think. Of course, Cupples's been at it longer than I have, Mr. Detweiler." "What in your judgment is the biggest asset a tackle can have, Thayer?" "Brains, sir." "Hm; yes, that's so. Now, look here."
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