We staggered into the garden, with arms full, to where McAndrew's bonfire was burning fiercely. McAndrew himself, having regard to his chronic interest in other people's business, I had despatched upon an errand. Soon the Encyclopædia and the theological works were engulfed in flame. Some odd volumes followed. I cremated my old friend Robert Southey with my own hands. This done, we returned to the packing-case and delved again.
"Did Mr. Baxter wish everything to be burned?" I asked. "What about the presentation volumes—the Shakespeare, for instance?"
"They was all to be burned," announced Ada doggedly, lowering her head into the case and avoiding my glance.
"Very well," I said.
Suddenly Ada looked up again, fiercely.
"Cross your heart and wish you may die if you look inside one of them!" she commanded.
I meekly took the grisly oath. But chance was too strong for us. Ada, eager to keep me entirely aloof from the mystery, attempted to lift four large volumes out of the case at once. The top volume—the Presentation Shakespeare itself—slipped off the others, fell upon the floor, and lay upon its back wide open. I could not help observing that it was a London Telephone Directory.
For a moment Ada and I regarded one another steadily. She did not wink an eyelash. Indeed, it was I who felt guilty.
"I may as well see them all now," I said.
"Please yourself," said Ada coldly.