“If you’d told me that,” said Edward, “I wouldn’t have asked you what the mark was; and what’s more, if you had told me the mark I could have told you the owner. Good lord!” he muttered, “what other man in England!... Had he hauled his Jewish Encyclopedia down there?” he suddenly turned round to ask.
“Yes,” said George eagerly, “how did you know?”
“Oh nothing,” said Edward, “only I know he is fond of it. Did you eat ham?”
“Yes,” said George thinking closely, “I did. Yes, I remember distinctly, I did.”
The expression of Edward was completely satisfied.
The time had come for their return. George, whose carelessness about money had received very distinct and very severe shocks in the last few months—nay, in the last few days—insisted upon paying, and Edward, who knew more than was good for him, allowed him to pay: and further advised him to spend the morrow, Thursday, in bed. “At any rate,” he concluded, “not where the sharks can get at you. Wait till Dolly sends, and that’ll be Friday, I know.”
They drove back to Demaine House, and Sudie, having heard the news from half London, was left to deal with the truant as she saw fit.
As for Edward, he was back late at night in Downing Street where bread-and-butter called him. But he found his chief with the mood of that happy afternoon long past, for, one encumbrance well discharged, the other did but the more gravely harass him, and the memory of Repton, of Repton doing he knew not what,—perhaps at that very moment wrecking any one of twenty political arrangements—tortured him beyond bearing.
But as the Premier had justly thought that afternoon, the tide had turned; and when the tide turns in the fairway of a harbour, though it turns here and there with eddies and with doubt, at last it sets full, and so it was now with the fortunes of our beloved land and of its twentyfold beloved Cabinet.
Repton was at that very moment restored to his right mind—his Caryll’s Ganglia were restored to their normal function—and would never tell the truth again.