“I must bear Barbara’s words of wisdom in mind,” said I.
“Indeed you won’t!” she exclaimed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Rupert. You know her hint doesn’t apply to you. And I shouldn’t have troubled about the proprieties in Tony’s case if I had really wanted him. But I didn’t, though I am awfully sorry for him.”
“Yes, he seems to be in a bad way mentally, poor devil. Of course you have heard about his delusions?”
“If they really are delusions, but I am not at all sure that they are. Now help me to carry these things into the sitting room and then I will do the omelette and bring it in.”
I obediently took up the tray and followed her into the sitting room, where I completed the arrangement of the table while she returned to the kitchen to perform the crowning culinary feat. In a minute or two she came in with the product under a heated cover and we took our seats at the table.
“You were speaking of Wallingford,” said I. “Apparently you know more about him than I do. It seemed to me that he was stark mad.”
“He is queer enough, I must admit—don’t let your omelette get cold—but I think you and Barbara are mistaken about his delusions. I suspect that somebody is really keeping him under observation; and if that is so, one can easily understand why his nerves are so upset.”
“Yes, indeed. But when you say you suspect that we are mistaken, what does that mean? Is it just a pious opinion or have you something to go upon?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t offer a mere pious opinion to a learned counsel,” she replied, with a smile. “I have something to go upon, and I will tell you about it, though I expect you will think I am stark mad, too. The fact is that I have been under observation, too.”
“Nonsense, Madeline,” I exclaimed. “The thing is absurd. You have let Wallingford infect you.”