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Updated: June 20, 2025
By this time Bates had closed the door; Theydon explained his presence in the flat by saying that within a few minutes he would have been telephoning again to Old Broad Street. "Ah! Did you speak to Macdonald?" said Forbes, dropping into a chair with a curious lassitude of manner which did not escape Theydon. "Yes. I have been most anxious to have a word with you "
The American scribbled the name of a Strand hotel on a card, which Theydon disposed in his pocketbook, at the same time producing one of his own cards. "You'll hear from me," he said. "Now, Mr. Handyside, pardon me for the next few minutes. I have to write telegrams." The first was to Forbes, addressed in duplicate to Old Broad Street and Fortescue Square.
Theydon explained his friend's theory of geographical names in the British Isles, and on that lightly humorous note the ladies disappeared. When they were gone Forbes quickly gave a sinister turn to their talk. He produced a letter from his pocket. "Listen to this," he said. "Y. M. is pleased to inform James Creighton Forbes that Mrs.
Forbes, nor hardly ever heard his name except in connection with public matters in the Press. O, yes. I make that promise readily. I trust you implicitly!" Theydon escorted Miss Beale downstairs. As they passed the closed door of No. 17, the lady shivered.
The door was thrown wide as they turned at the sound of the words, and Theydon recognized in a strange little figure wearing a blue serge suit, a straw hat and brown boots Furneaux, the man whom he had looked on as somewhat of a crank and visionary during their talk of the previous night.
His pallor reminded Theydon of the tint of ivory, of that waxen-white Dutch grisaille beloved of fifteenth century illuminators of manuscripts. His silence was disturbing, almost irritating, his manner singularly calm.
A marked pause ensued. When Winter spoke again his tone was grave. "This is a very serious business, Mr. Theydon," he said. "The worst part of it is that it seems to be spreading in an ever-widening circle. If it goes much further we'll be obliged to run in every Chinaman in London, and sift out the decent ones from the heap until we reach the unpleasant residuum. Are you worried about things?
"Three, sir, and a small parcel. I put them on your table. Shall I get you something, sir?" "No, thanks. I've just had a huge supper. Goodnight." "Goodnight, sir. Any orders for the morning?" "Let me sleep as long as I like, unless I'm wanted." Theydon entered the sitting room. He opened the letters.
Forbes, but not one inch farther, and you know it." The two antagonists, so singularly disproportionate in size, were yet so perfectly matched in the vastly more important qualities of brain and nerve that the contest lost all sense of inequality. Theydon felt himself of no account in this duel. He was like an urchin watching open-mouthed a combat of gladiators.
"I'm taking an American friend there for the afternoon. May we come in your carriage? Is there room for two?" Now, although Evelyn Forbes had been attracted to Theydon during their vivacious conversation overnight, she would vastly have preferred the comparative solitude of a journey with strangers.
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