He did his best, poor devil. Raphael yelled: “Yes, for you! And I’ll never throw but one more knife—but I’ll do that if I have to come back from hell to do it!” He was gone, through Lansdowne Passage. My wretched man hadn’t a chance. That night and for days there wasn’t a port in England that H—— left unwatched for Julian Raphael. But, as in the story-books, he has never been seen or heard of again. H—— has an idea he is somewhere in the Americas.
But it’s not quite true (the Admiral added) that Julian Raphael has never been seen or heard of again. I have seen him and heard him, quite lately—in a sort of way. Of course, it can be no more than a trick of the imagination. He has probably been more on my mind recently than I had realised. But the illusion is quite definitely vivid and unpleasant. And I can tell you it gets rather on a man’s nerves, this comic talk of knives on Piccadilly. Imagination, Hilary, can play us queer dark tricks sometimes. And it’s no good trying to explain them with spirit talk. The mind is a dark place and we don’t know what’s in the sky and that’s all there is to it.
Mr. Townshend had listened gravely. A grey man, of the type conscientiously sad, Mr. Townshend found no aspect of this our life on earth which was not a proper occasion for the exercise of gravity, command of temper and forbearance. He therefore forbore to make any comment on his friend’s tale, but merely remarked:
“You ought not to stay in London, Charles. An unhealthy place, at best. Why not come down to Magralt with me to-morrow? Guy de Travest is coming. There’s some fishing. Not much, and that little is poor, but you can always smoke in peace.”
Sir Charles laughed. “You talk like Manana! But, anyhow, I am due at Portsmouth the day after to-morrow. No, no, I’ll see my time out in London. I’ve been in most corners of the world, Hilary, and never found romance but in London.”
“Hm!” said Mr. Townshend thoughtfully. “You have an odd idea of romance, Charles. Romance! And I don’t, as a general rule, believe in apparitions. Hm! Have you rung up H—— to tell him of the reappearance of this remarkably unpleasant youth?”
“And he laughed me to scorn! Was ready, in fact, to lay a pony against Raphael’s being within a thousand miles of London or England.”
“You never know,” said Mr. Townshend thoughtfully.
“Where you are,” said Mr. Townshend thoughtfully. “With Jews.”