“Wait. That’s the prescription, my lean and angry friend. That’s the sigil that will exorcise the spirit of the Black House.”
“Sigil?” Thorne stared. “Spirit?”
“Wait. Precisely. Lord, how I’m waiting!”
Thorne looked puzzled and suspicious, as if he suspected Ellery of a contrary midnight humor. But Ellery sat soberly smoking. “Wait! For what, man? You’re more exasperating than that fat monstrosity! What are you waiting for?”
Ellery looked at him. Then he rose and flung his butt into the dying fire and placed his hand on the old man’s arm. “Go to bed, Thorne. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Queen, you must. I’ll go mad if I don’t see daylight on this thing soon!”
Ellery looked shocked, for no reason that Thorne could see. And then, just as inexplicably, he slapped Thome’s shoulder and began to chuckle. “Go to bed,” he said, still chuckling.
“But you must tell me!”
Ellery sighed, losing his smile. “I can’t. You’d laugh.”
“I’m not in a laughing mood!”