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Updated: May 6, 2025
But as few people were acquainted with, or attracted to, such a hobby or branch of knowledge, his intellectual life was somewhat solitary. Among the few exceptions was Horne Fisher, who had a curious capacity for talking to almost anybody about almost anything. "Studying botany, or is it archaeology?" inquired Grayne. "I shall never come to the end of your interests, Fisher.
There was a stony silence, and then Travers remarked, gruffly: "This is your department, Grayne; I will leave you to question Captain Boyle. I can make no sense of what he says." Boyle had pulled himself together and risen to his feet, but his face still wore an awful expression, making it like a new mask or the face of another man.
Dawn had begun to break abrupt and white when Cuthbert Grayne turned out the lights in the library and came out on to the links. Fisher was lounging about alone, in his listless fashion; but the police messenger for whom he had sent was standing at attention in the background.
When they had deposited the body in the library, Grayne turned to Fisher and said, in a voice that had recovered its fullness and confidence, "I am going to lock myself in and make a thorough examination first. I look to you to keep in touch with the others and make a preliminary examination of Boyle. I will talk to him later.
But we who have met heroes know that they are very seldom of the type which achieves the immortality of the picture post-card. The Reverend Paul Grayne, V.C., sometime curate of Thorpington Parva, in the county of Hampshire, was no exception to this rule. Æsthetically he was a blot on the landscape; among all the heroes I have met I never saw anything less heroically moulded.
It would be just as true to say I sent Travers in charge of Boyle." "You don't mean to say you suspect Tom Travers?" cried the other. "He was a deal bitterer against the general than Boyle ever was," observed Horne Fisher, with a curious indifference. "Man, you're not saying what you mean," cried Grayne. "I tell you I found the poison in one of the coffee cups."
You have all seen it in the latest V.C. list "The Reverend Paul Grayne, Chaplain to the Forces, for conspicuous bravery and gallant example in the face of desperate circumstances."
He went by the name of Said, and was notable among other Semites for that unnatural length of his yellow face and height of his narrow forehead which is sometimes seen among them, and gave an irrational impression of something sinister, in spite of his agreeable smile. "I never feel as if I could quite trust that fellow," said Grayne, when the man had gone away.
There was a rather embarrassing silence, full of memories of the great battle, and then Horne Fisher said, quietly: "The newspapers aren't the world, Tom. Don't you worry about them. Everybody in your world knows the truth well enough." "I think we'd better not talk about the general just now," remarked Grayne, "for he's just coming out of the club." "He's not coming here," said Fisher.
The rocky face of Grayne seemed to have sustained a shock in silence; not a line of it altered, but his voice when it came was unexpectedly weakened. "I see what you mean," he said, "and, as you say, the less said about it the better. It was not the lover who tried to get rid of the husband, but the other thing. And a tale like that about a man like that would ruin us here.
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