“This is a great pleasure, Thorndyke,” said Rodney, shaking hands heartily. “Quite an interesting experience, too, to see you in evening clothes, looking almost human. I am sorry I couldn’t get here to dinner. I should like to have seen you taking food like an ordinary mortal.”
“You shall see him take some coffee presently,” said Margaret. “But doesn’t Dr. Thorndyke usually look human?”
“Well,” replied Rodney, “I won’t say that there isn’t a certain specious resemblance of a human being. But it is illusory. He is really a sort of legal abstraction like John Doe or Richard Roe. Apart from the practice of the law there is no such person.”
“That sounds to me like a libel,” said Margaret.
“Yes,” agreed Varney. “You’ve done it now, Rodney. It must be actionable to brand a man as a mere hallucination. There will be wigs on the green—barrister’s wigs—when Dr. Thorndyke begins to deal out writs.”
“Then I shall plead justification,” said Rodney, “and I shall cite the present instance. For what do these pretences of customary raiment and food consumption amount to? They are mere camouflage, designed to cover a legal inquiry into the disappearances from his usual places of resort of one Daniel Purcell.”
“Now you are only making it worse,” said Margaret, “for you are implicating me. You are implying that my little dinner party is nothing more than a camouflaged legal inquisition.”
“And you are implicating me, too,” interposed Varney, “as an accessory before, during and after the fact. You had better be careful, Rodney. It will be a joint action, and Dr. Thorndyke will produce scientific witnesses who will prove anything he tells them to.”
“I call this intimidation,” said Rodney. “The circumstances seem to call for the aid of tobacco—I see that permission has been given to smoke.”
“And perhaps a cup of coffee might help,” said Margaret, as the maid entered with the tray.