“Wild horses should not drag it from me,” I pledged myself. “I will not encourage him: I will not enrage him; I swear not to ask him what he did it for. But—if you don’t mind—could I, so to speak, bear the shock of learning what it is that he has done?”
“You haven’t heard?” Mrs Albert asked, glancing up at me, with an astonished face, as I stood on the stairs. When I shook my head, she put out her hand to the latch, and opened the door, as if to heighten the dramatic suspense. Then she turned and looked me in the eye with solemn intentness. “What has he done?” she echoed in a hollow voice: “You go upstairs and see!”
The door closed behind her, and I made my way noiselessly, two steps at a time, to the floor above. Some vague sense of disaster seemed to brood over the silent, half-lighted stairway and the deserted landing. I knocked at Uncle Dudley’s door—almost prepared to find my signal unanswered. But no, his voice came back, cheerily enough, and I entered the room.
“Oh, it’s you!” said my friend, rising from his chair. “Glad to see you,”—and we shook hands. Standing thus, I found myself staring into his face with a rude and prolonged fixity of gaze, under which he first smiled—a strange, unwholesome sort of smile—then flushed a little, then scowled and averted his glance.
“Great heavens!” I exclaimed at last. “Why, man alive, what on earth possessed you to—”
“Come now!” broke in Uncle Dudley, with peremptory sternness. “Chuck it!”
“Yes—I know”—I stammered haltingly along—“I promised I wouldn’t ask you—but—”
“But the original simian instincts triumph over your resolutions, eh?” said my friend, crustily. “Yes, I know. I’ve had pretty nearly a week of it now. That question has been asked me, I estimate, somewhere about six hundred and seventy-eight times since last Thursday. It’s only fair to you to tell you that I have registered a vow to hit the next man who asks me that fool of a question—‘What did you do it for?’—straight under his left ear. I probably saved your life by interrupting you.”
Though the words were fierce, there was a marked return of geniality in the tone. I took the liberty of putting a hand over Uncle Dudley’s shoulder, and marching him across to the window.
“Let’s have a good look at you,” I said.