“I will manage that,” said Euphra.
Hugh soon returned with the drill, and Euphra with the plate. The Bohemian, with some difficulty, and the remark that the English ware was very hard, drilled a small hole in the rim of the plate—a dinner-plate; then begging an H B drawing-pencil from Miss Cameron, cut off a small piece, and fitted it into the hole, making it just long enough to touch the table with its point when the plate lay in its ordinary position.
“Now I am ready,” said he. “But,” he added, raising his head, and looking all round the room, as if a sudden thought had struck him—“I do not think this room will be quite satisfactory.”
They were now in the drawing-room.
“Choose the room in the house that will suit you,” said Mr. Arnold. “The dining-room?”
“Certainly not,” answered Funkelstein, as he took from his watch-chain a small compass and laid it on the table. “Not the dining-room, nor the breakfast-room—I think. Let me see—how is it situated?” He went to the hall, as if to refresh his memory, and then looked again at the compass. “No, not the breakfast-room.”
Hugh could not help thinking there was more or less of the charlatan about the man.
“The library?” suggested Lady Emily.
They adjourned to the library to see. The library would do. After some further difficulty, they succeeded in procuring a large sheet of paper and fastening it down to the table by drawing-pins. Only two candles were in the great room, and it was scarcely lighted at all by them; yet Funkelstein requested that one of these should be extinguished, and the other removed to a table near the door. He then said, solemnly:
“Let me request silence, absolute silence, and quiescence of thought even.”