‘I am not telling you a story,—at least, on this occasion; and Mr Lessingham has not told me. Suppose we postpone these details to a little later. And perhaps, in the interim, you will permit me to put a question or two to Mr Holt.’
I let him have his way,—though I knew he was concealing something from me; that he had a more intimate acquaintance with Mr Holt’s strange tale than he chose to confess. And, for some cause, his reticence annoyed me.
He looked at Mr Holt in silence for a second or two. Then he said, with the quizzical little air of bland impertinence which is peculiarly his own,
‘I presume, Mr Holt, you have been entertaining us with a novelty in fables, and that we are not expected to believe this pleasant little yarn of yours.’
‘I expect nothing. But I have told you the truth. And you know it.’
This seemed to take Sydney aback.
‘I protest that, like Miss Lindon, you credit me with a more extensive knowledge than I possess. However, we will let that pass.—I take it that you paid particular attention to this mysterious habitant of this mysterious dwelling.’
I saw that Mr Holt shuddered.
‘I am not likely ever to forget him.’
‘Then, in that case, you will be able to describe him to us.’