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Had truth a Medusa face, still would he have desired to look into it once, would have been ready to endure a subsequent turning to stone. That Chichester should perhaps have seen what he had not seen that troubled him, even humbled him. Some words of Professor Stepton came back to his mind: "If there's anything in it, development will take place in the link."
Good day." And the professor marched on. Chichester did not follow, but the next day, on the pavement not far from the museum, he stopped once more in front of the professor with a "Good afternoon." "Good day," said Stepton. "Since you know who I am," began the curate, "and I have heard so much of you, I hope you will forgive me for asking you something." "Certainly."
But was he not now, perhaps, exaggerating its character, "suggestioned" as it were by the obvious turmoil of Mr. Harding? He wondered, and was disturbed by his wonderment. Two or three times he got up, with the intention of jumping into a cab, and going to Westminster to find out if Professor Stepton was in town. But he only got as far as the hall. Then something seemed to check him.
But he could not decide exactly what Stepton had meant. He felt inferior to the professor as he turned into Hornton Street. He did not hesitate, but went at once to the curate's door and rapped. No one answered. He rapped again, and touched the bell, half hoping, even while he did so, that there was no one within to hear.
Perhaps he was able to do this because he was able to mount, falconwise! Malling would have given a good deal to have Stepton with him in this affair, despite the professor's repellent attitude toward the amateur. Well, if there really was anything in it, if strangeness rose out of the orthodox bosom of St.
I really don't know," responded Stepton, with an odd hint of something like modesty. "I had thought of Malling first," almost murmured Chichester. "What's that about Malling?" "I think he would have accepted what I have to give more readily than you would. There seems to me something in him which stretches out arms toward those things in which mystics believe.
"When one first begins to sit at séances, one is apt to imagine all sorts of things in the darkness," returned Stepton. "I dare say I did, like other folk." "I understand," said Chichester, with a sort of strange condescension. "You think I was merely the victim of absurdity. The sense of this coming of power grew slowly, but steadily, within me.
That afternoon he went to Westminster, and asked for Professor Stepton. "He is away, sir," said the fair Scotch parlormaid. "For long?" "We don't know, sir. He has gone into Kent, on research business, I believe." Agnes had been for a long time in the professor's service, and was greatly trusted.
"If only Stepton were here!" thought Malling. There was a truth hidden from him, perhaps partly divined, obscurely half seen, but not thoroughly understood, as a whole invisible. Stepton would be the man to elucidate it, Malling thought. It lured him on, and baffled him. "How it rains!" said the curate at last, without turning. He bent down and opened the small window.
On Friday afternoon, coming suddenly upon Stepton at a corner, he stopped abruptly, and said: "May I ask if you want anything of me?" "Sir!" barked Stepton. "Mr. Chichester!" "You know my name?" said the curate. "And probably you know mine Professor Stepton." A relief that was evidently intense dawned in the curate's face. "You are Professor Stepton! You are Mr. Malling's friend!" "Exactly.
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