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But Delia reads it more than I; she reads pieces aloud. I like to read books; I read as many as I can." "Well, it's all literature," said Mr. Flack; "it's all the press, the great institution of our time. Some of the finest books have come out first in the papers. It's the history of the age." "I see you've got the same aspirations," Francie remarked kindly. "The same aspirations?"
And she sat there swaying her parasol, looking about her, giving no order. "Au Bois," said George Flack to the coachman, leaning back on the soft cushions. For a few moments after the carriage had taken its easy elastic start they were silent; but he soon began again. "Was that lady one of your new relatives?" "Do you mean one of Mr. Probert's old ones? She's his sister."
Flack promised to "nose round"; he said the best plan would be that the results should "come back" to her in the Reverberator; it might have been gathered from him that "the people over there" in other words the mass of their compatriots wouldn't be unpersuadable that they wanted about a column on Mr. Probert.
'I don't care to hear singing to-day, my head buzzes so with all this flack, was the sullen answer; but I took no notice of this ill-tempered remark, and began a little Scotch ballad that I thought was bright and spirited.
All but her own face was visible; of that she saw nothing but the sharp outline of her cheek, which was very white. She saw herself holding her hat, bending sideways to the gale; she saw her skirt cling about her legs, and flack to get free. She wondered why she didn't hold it down. The wind was a hot one; she felt that it was so. It made her head ache, and burned her cheek-bone.
"You scare me awfully you terrify me," the girl could but plead. "I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't seen it, I don't understand it. Of course I've talked to Mr. Flack." "Oh Francie, don't say it don't SAY it! Dear child, you haven't talked to him in that fashion: vulgar horrors and such a language!"
"How am I to know that?" "Haven't you heard him called by name all day?" said the captain. Flack smiled, went out and returned with his license to sell liquor, and his commission as a magistrate of New York State. The latter bore his own signature. He took a pen and reproduced it. Now the captain threw back his overcoat and stood in the full uniform of an army officer.
"It doesn't take a big wound to kill a man." As he spoke the sharp ring of a telephone bell from downstairs reached them. "That's Inspector Chippenfield," said Inspector Seldon, rising to his feet. "Stay here, Flack, till I go and speak to him." "Six-thirty edition: High Court Judge murdered!"
Stay there with him, go off with him I'll allow you half an hour if necessary: only settle him once for all. It's very kind of me to give you this chance, and in return for it I expect you to be able to tell me this evening that he has his answer. Shut him up!" Francie didn't in the least dislike Mr. Flack.
Flack noted that the body was fully dressed, and he saw a dark stain above the breast where the blood had welled forth and soaked the dead man's clothes and formed a pool on the carpet beside him. Inspector Seldon opened the dead man's clothes. Over his heart he found the wound from which the blood had flowed. "There it is, Flack," he said, touching the wound lightly with his finger.
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