“Nothing. I’m a non-smoker. My profession demands a clear intellect, not a brain atrophied by nicotine.”
“Piffle! Carlyle and Bismarck were smokers.”
“Who reads Carlyle now-a-days? And what modern German pays heed to Bismarck’s dogmas? Look at that pipe of yours. It was once a pure ivory white. Now it is black—soiled by tobacco juice. Your lungs are slowly emulating it, and your wits will cloud in time. Read Tolstoi, Mr. Hart. He will teach you how nicotine deadens the conscience.”
“At last I know why I smoke like a Thames tug,” laughed Hart, “but I’m blest if I can understand why you make such a study of the vile weed.”
“Most criminals are addicted to the habit. I classify them by their brand of tobacco. For instance, a clever forger would never descend to thick twist, while a swell mobsman would turn with horror from a woodbine.”
Minnie entered, and nodded, whereupon Grant led the others upstairs to wash. From the bathroom he looked out over a darkening landscape. Doris’s dormer window was open. She was leaning on the sill, but he could not tell whether or not her eyes were turned his way. Her attitude was pensive, disconsolate, curiously forlorn for a girl normally high-spirited. He was on the point of signaling to her when he remembered Furneaux’s presence. There was something impish, almost diabolically clever, in that little man’s characteristics which induced wariness.
The dinner was a marvel, considering the short notice given to the cook. Luckily, Mrs. Bates, a loyal soul, had resolved to tempt her employer’s appetite that evening. Village gossip had it that the police were about to arrest him, and she was determined he should enjoy at least one good meal before being haled to prison. Hence, the materials were present. The rest was a matter of quantities, and Sussex seldom stints itself in that respect.
The chatter round the table was light and amusing. The three were well matched conversationally. Furneaux evidently held the opinion once expressed by a notable Walrus—that the time had come
To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—
Of cabbages—and kings.
He was in excellent form, and the others played up to him. Hart’s slow drawl was ever trenchant and witty, and Grant forgot his woes in congenial company. As for the mercurial detective himself, it might be said of him as of the school-master of Auburn: