The gentleman took off his spectacles and laughed. His laugh sounded rusty, Cyril thought, as though it wasn’t often used.
“Of course!” he said. “I’m sure I beg your pardon. I think I must have been in a dream. You are the children who live downstairs, are you not? Yes. I have seen you as I have passed in and out. And you have found something that you think to be an antiquity, and you’ve brought it to show me? That was very kind. I should like to inspect it.”
“I’m afraid we didn’t think about your liking to inspect it,” said the truthful Anthea. “It was just for us—because we wanted to know the name on it—”
“Oh, yes—and, I say,” Robert interjected, “you won’t think it rude of us if we ask you first, before we show it, to be bound in the what-do-you-call-it of—”
“In the bonds of honour and upright dealing,” said Anthea.
“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you,” said the gentleman, with gentle nervousness.
“Well, it’s this way,” said Cyril. “We’ve got part of a charm. And the Sammy—I mean, something told us it would work, though it’s only half a one; but it won’t work unless we can say the name that’s on it. But, of course, if you’ve got another name that can lick ours, our charm will be no go; so we want you to give us your word of honour as a gentleman—though I’m sure, now I’ve seen you, that it’s not necessary; but still I’ve promised to ask you, so we must. Will you please give us your honourable word not to say any name stronger than the name on our charm?”
The gentleman had put on his spectacles again and was looking at Cyril through them. He now said: “Bless me!” more than once, adding, “Who told you all this?”
“I can’t tell you,” said Cyril. “I’m very sorry, but I can’t.”
Some faint memory of a far-off childhood must have come to the learned gentleman just then, for he smiled. “I see,” he said. “It is some sort of game that you are engaged in? Of course! Yes! Well, I will certainly promise. Yet I wonder how you heard of the names of power?”