For a time she gave him the benefit of her rather scrappy knowledge of the local antiquities, while he jotted down notes in his pocket-book. At last, when he had exhausted her store, he looked at his watch and made a gesture of apology.
“It’s late, Mrs. Brent. I really hadn’t meant to keep you so long. But what you’ve been telling me is interesting, and I’ve got a thirst for knowledge about that kind of thing. You’ve helped me considerably. That information will be of great assistance to me.”
“Why not begin with the nearest? Mr. Dangerfield will be delighted to show you the Talisman to-night, I’m sure, if you wish it. And be sure to get him to tell you the legend of the pool. It may save you trouble, you know. You’ll see that your idea about the Talisman is quite hopeless.”
“That’s an idea. That’s a good idea, Mrs. Brent. I always like to know, right away, what sort of proposition I’m up against. I’ve not given up hope yet, you understand? I’m quite set on taking that Talisman home with me somehow, if it can be managed. And I think it can, one way or another.”
Conway Westenhanger’s voice came across the room. The bridge-table was breaking up.
“I make it twenty-seven pounds twelve. You might check the figures, Douglas. I’m more at home in the calculus than in simple arithmetic; and it’s quite likely I’ve made a slip.”
“Right,” said Douglas. “It isn’t your honesty I’m in doubt about, merely your capacity. The great brains are always a bit one-sided—top-heavy, if you take my meaning. Let’s see. Eight and six . . .”
He rapidly checked the addition.
“Correct! Well, you scrape through with a caution this time; but don’t do it again.”
Mrs. Caistor Scorton produced a roll of notes and counted out twenty-seven pounds ten on the table between Eileen and herself.