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Updated: May 21, 2025
The mulberry, sold for firewood, was bought by a local clockmaker, who made solemn affidavit that the toys he made of it were from the genuine sacred tree. When the Rev. Mr. Gastrell had gone to where he may have met the poet, though this is unlikely, his widow sold the remains of the estate to a Mr. Wm. Hunt, who in time sold it to a firm of bankers.
As for his declaration to Easterton that he was not the Gastrell whom Osborne had met on the Masonic, it was clear now that he had some secret reason for wishing to pass in London as a bachelor, and as Osborne had told Easterton that the Gastrell on the Masonic had told him that he had met me in Geneva, naturally Gastrell had been driven in order to conceal his identity to maintain that he had never before met me either.
"A nice cheerful pet to keep," I remarked, annoyed at my experience; but at that moment the mysterious Gastrell bustled in alone. "So sorry," he said, and, after thanking us for coming out so far to ascertain if he had lost his purse, he pulled up a chair, seated himself between us, lit a big cigar, and helped us to whiskey from a silver tantalus.
I was so staggered, first at finding her at this house again, and then at her addressing me in the calm way she did, that for some moments I could not answer. Jack and Preston, now in conversation with Jasmine Gastrell, did not notice my hesitation. At last, collecting my scattered thoughts, I answered: "I am quite well, Dulcie.
It interested me because only a short time before I had, while staying in Geneva, become acquainted at the hotel with a man named Gastrell, and I wondered if he could be the same. From the remarks I had just heard I suspected that he must be, for the young man in Geneva had also been an individual of considerable personality, and a good conversationalist.
Francis Gastrell!" "Perhaps," said Hester, "there is a mistake in the verses in the church. Perhaps they ought to be: "'Bleste be ye man yt spares these bones, And curst be he yt moves my stones. That would mean the Rev. Francis Gastrell." "I hope so," said Mr. Imber. "It's a very good idea. But why do you like Shakespeare so?" "He's so wonderful," said Hester.
Yet here at the address that Gastrell had given to the taxi-driver was the very woman the man calling himself Gastrell, with whom Osborne had returned from Africa, had passed off as his wife. "My husband isn't in at present," she said calmly, a moment later, "but I expect him back at any minute. Won't you come in and wait for him?"
You may some day be glad I told it to you." I shuddered. Then I remembered Preston's warning and the part I had to play. Up to the present, Gastrell suspected nothing of that I felt positive; but let the least suspicion creep into his brain that I was not the man he believed he had been speaking to Instantly I pulled myself together.
Therefore I remained sprawling in the big arm-chair, where I had been pretending to read a newspaper, hoping that something more would be said about Gastrell. Presently my patience was rewarded.
As we proceeded I told them of the letter that Gastrell had pushed into my pocket, and how, on the following day, it would be found in his own pocket. "So that until I reveal myself," I added, "I shall, after the discovery of that letter, be dead to my friends and relatives.
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