“What is?”
“That you should have forgotten to inform me of such a striking fact.”
“Not so. Now that I recollect, I have not had the opportunity. It was impossible to discuss anything else but that forged letter on the last two occasions we met, and it was only a few hours prior to your visit on Monday that I got the cabman’s story fully. By the way, do you now see any reason why Jane Harding should have tried to deceive you in such a manner?”
The barrister perceived that Sir Charles was nervous and irritable, so he deemed it a needless strain to enlarge on the history of his discovery of Foxey.
“I am tired of letters, and plots, and mysteries. My life is resolving into one huge note of interrogation. Soon the great question of eternity will dominate all others.”
Dyke’s mood unfitted him for sustained conversation. Bruce could but pity him, and hope that time would calm his fevered brain, and soothe the unrest that shed this gloom over him.
“Really,” said Claude, after a long interval, during which both men sought inspiration from the dancing flames in the fireplace, “really this is too bad of you, Dyke. You showed a marked improvement for a little space, and now you are letting yourself slip back into a state of lonely and unoccupied moping again.”
“My thoughts find me both occupation and company,” was the despondent reply.
“There is nothing for it,” continued Bruce cheerfully, “but a tour round the world. You must start immediately. A complete change of scene and surroundings will soon pull you back to a normal state of mind and health.”
“I have been thinking of a long journey for some time past.”