“Shut up about Paris,” he begged. “The thought of it’s like a nightmare to me—a nightmare full of puppet gnomes, with human masks and the faces of devils underneath.”
“The masks came off?” Holderness asked.
Macheson shivered.
“They did,” he answered.
“Do you good,” Holderness declared coolly, locking his desk. “I’ve been through it. So long as the masks came off it’s all right. What was it sent you there, Victor?”
“A piece of madness,” Macheson answered in a low tone, “supreme, utter madness.”
“Cured?”
“Oh! I hope so,” Macheson answered. “If not—well, I can fight.”
Holderness stood still for a moment. There was a queer look in his eyes.